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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651707">Captiv(ation)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher'>BlueEyedArcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Captiv(ation) Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampyr (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Chains, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Geoffrey captures Jonathan, Humor, Kissing, Kitty Ekon Jonathan, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, prisoner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:26:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>82,158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Edgar wasn't the man Jonathan ran into first? What if Priwen captured the newborn Ekon in their early pursuit? What if Geoffrey met Jonathan on different terms?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Captiv(ation) Series [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>340</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Expect the Unexpected</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Horror stricken by the taste of blood on his tongue and the stinging pain in his arms from the scorch of sunlight. A lingering agony like fading sunburn that went deeper than the skin itself. Jonathan examined them twice only to find his injuries healed, as extraordinarily impossible as that was. It only deepened his confusion. Gunshots and screaming faded in the distance, slurs of <em> Leech! </em>trailing his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>His hands trembled as he held the gun against his chest and laid there on that filthy bed, staring up at the water stained ceiling with the creeping dark splotches of mold and decay that spread like a plague across the interior. The stench of rot rising up from the long since dead inhabitants that shared this dwelling with him.</p><p> </p><p>What kind of world had he fallen into? What has his home become?</p><p> </p><p>"It's all just a nightmare." He reminded himself. "A horrible terrible nightmare. I'll wake up and then I'll see mother and Mary and everything will be alright again. I just...need to wake up first."</p><p> </p><p>Pale blue grey eyes blinked slowly as he inhaled through his nostrils. His finger squeezing the trigger of the gun. "Rational thinking only." He declared. </p><p> </p><p>The bang echoed from within the house as blood soaked through the mattress. The gun slipped from his fingers and fell to his side. The lifeless form lay limp in the death bed of it's own making.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Geoffrey heard the gunshot. The echo came from within a barricaded building his men had yet to search. There weren't many people still lurking through the squalor along the waterfront. It was too dangerous for one and the stench of the mass graves often kept trespassers away aside from those Wet Boot feckers that had no brains between their ears. A taste for robbing corpses was what kept them coming back despite Priwen's warnings.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey grit his teeth in frustration and gestured for O'Connor to assist him in prying open the door. It took several minutes to get through with a bit of cunning and finagling but in no time at all, O'Connor had gained entry. </p><p> </p><p>O'Connor eased out a triumphant huff and dusted his gloved hands off, straightening his back and broad shoulders. He had long brunette hair tied back into a hasty bun and keen green eyes. A scruffy beard along his jawline made him look a good twenty years older than he actually was, sitting around the same age roughly as McCullum himself. A good head taller than Geoffrey, he made a sharp addition to the young leader's inner circle. An extremely loyal addition as well, especially as Geoffrey's Second.</p><p> </p><p>"Good work O'Connor." Geoffrey praised with a pat to the man's shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>"You're welcome sir." O'Connor shifted to trail in behind his boss, clearing the first floor with a critical eye. "Skal, dead. Two days at most. Gunshot wound." He reported, examining the fallen woman on the living room floor. Her twisted features were an unwelcome sight to the Priwen second.</p><p> </p><p>"First floor is clear." Geoffrey announced, noticing a few items around the room had been moved recently. The dust disturbed, a brush of prints left behind on the surfaces. A photograph lifted to be examined then placed back down. They weren't alone in this building, that was for certain.</p><p> </p><p>Both men carefully climbed the old rickety stairs towards the second floor, a rare opportunity to find them still in some semblance of usefulness and not cluttered with heaps of furniture or fallen to pieces. Though, with their combined weight, it didn't sound like they would hold out for very long. They hastened their way up to the next level and entered the mostly darkened room.</p><p> </p><p>A lantern light was lit by the body of a man sitting in his chair. A farewell letter and a photograph nearby. Gunshot wound. "Suicide." Geoffrey sighed. It was a more common way to go these days. Between the war, the new pandemic of sick and the collapse of the economy around the corner, a lot of folks have lost their will to live.</p><p> </p><p>"Another one." O'Connor pointed out, drawing Geoffrey's attention towards the bed where a man laid. He was better dressed than either of the two previously dead occupants, skin sickly pale and papery thin in appearance. His shirt was ruined by massive pools of blood that made it hard to pinpoint the injury of origin. </p><p> </p><p>"Fresh." O'Connor leaned over the body to examine the man, finding the hole in the fabric and following it. He frowned when his fingers stopped over the heart. "He shot himself." He nodded towards the gun at his side.</p><p> </p><p>"Another suicide then." </p><p> </p><p>"Sir, there's no injury."</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey did a double take, reassessing the body that laid before them before hissing out. "Leech." He narrowed his eyes on the scene before them, calculating the entire ridiculousness of the scenario. A leech that tried to end it's own life, not necessarily a common occurrence in his line of work.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced towards the boarded up windows thoughtfully. The sun was already up which meant it wouldn't wake for quite a long time. The day had just begun and this was an intriguing case if he had to say so. Unprecedented even. Carl may be cursing him from the grave, but Geoffrey won't ignore the opportunity given to him to better learn how to combat the leech plague.</p><p> </p><p>He scrubbed a weary hand across his face and shook his head. "Pack it up. We're taking it back with us."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes sir."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><em> Pain </em>.</p><p> </p><p>He could feel it, unlike any other he had experienced in his life. A stomach clenching knot of pain that twisted up his organ in a topsy turvy display of distaste for the predicament at hand. It took Jonathan several minutes to suss out that it was hunger he was feeling but unlike the starved moments he felt late in the war when rations were low and his hours of work were long. This was completely new to him, an agony that burned into the bones of his jaw and made his teeth ache.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked open his eyes in a slow rouse back to the waking world, casting a careful glance around at his surroundings. He remembered the gunshot and the pain that blossomed in his chest in that dilapidated old building. But this was not where he had attempted to leave this world. He may have accidentally plunged himself into a new ring of hell.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan's eyes widened as he examined the startling addition of bars locking him inside what he assumed to be a prison cell. His hands were clasped in chains that led to the wall farthest from the entrance like some kind of prisoner. This had to be some mistake. He was having another nightmare maybe? Or maybe his ship had never made it to safe harbor? Did that mean he was a prisoner of war somewhere? A captive?</p><p> </p><p>As preposterous as it seemed, he could at least rationalize with that. His memories were all jumbled up and didn't make sense at all. He could have suffered a major head injury during an attack, which would make sense for his confusion, strange dreams and maybe even hallucinations? He remembers being chased and shot at but he swore he was in London at the time. </p><p> </p><p>No, maybe another hallucination? And then there was <em> Mary. </em> His sweet sister. Her body held limp in his arms, the blood soaking into her pale complexion and striking the cold wet cobblestones below. That didn't feel like a hallucination.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was so confused. He just wants to go home, to see his family again and know he doesn't have to fight another war. Was that too much to ask from the world? Just the smallest fraction of compliance for a tired man.</p><p> </p><p>He slumped in the chains and thumbed the links between his fingers in idle thought. His shirt was scratchy against his chest with the dried blood rubbing against his skin. Overall, he felt disgusting.</p><p> </p><p>His ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, his head tilted up to swivel towards the direction but he didn't see anyone nearby. He frowned at himself, listening intently for several minutes. He swore he could hear them but they didn't sound that close. He was about to dismiss it as insanity when he finally heard the click of a door opening. In the narrow dark hallway in front of his cage, he caught the briefest hint of shadows shifting, then a light illuminated the space. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut to guard against the brightness, letting his vision adjust when he opened them again.</p><p> </p><p>The footsteps had approached with an easy going swagger. But the voice was not one he anticipated hearing. For one, it wasn't German. A thick accent followed that placed the man as hailing from Ireland. Was he taken by one of their own? Mistaken identity maybe? Giving him a long calculated look, Jonathan resolved that no, this man was no soldier. Not in the official capacity, he may add.</p><p> </p><p>Sharp blue eyes gazed upon him with cold indifference, a strong jaw set tight and dark brown hair combed neatly back. The prominent red scarf around his throat gave a somewhat dressed up appearance to the riff raff outfit. It reminded Jonathan of a revolutionary. Locals fighting back for their freedom, something of which he hadn't seen since the more remote areas of the war that they were stationed.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re awake at last.” The words drawled out in that thickened accent, dragging choice syllables along on his tongue. It would have been a pleasant sound to Jonathan’s ears, reminiscent of his companions that worked alongside him in the field hospitals. One of the soldiers stationed to protect the hospital was from Dublin, a young man, barely old enough to be away from his mother’s side. His freckled face was always graced with a smile when he’d assist Reid with his work. A welcome presence that eased the men recovering from the worst of their wounds. He was a shoulder for them to lean on and a companion Jonathan sorely missed when he left the front lines to return home.</p><p> </p><p>Sadly, that was as far as the similarities went with this man.</p><p> </p><p>Unlike the young private, this man was roguish and reeked of trouble. Every move was calculated, never a wasted motion. His steely gaze told of his own war, which made Jonathan question what exactly had been going on while he was away. Had London gotten so bad in his absence? Where were the authorities? Were these ruffians just roaming the streets, accosting anyone that had the misfortune of crossing their paths?</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” Jonathan’s voice sounded far weaker than he intended to but the lance of pain in his stomach made it hard to maintain some semblance of composure. It was hard to look certain when this man loomed over his kneeling form.</p><p> </p><p>“Geoffrey McCullum.” He introduced coldly. “Head of the Guard of Priwen.”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t ring any bells to Jonathan. He shook his head slowly in confusion. “Is that some sort of...task force?”</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey’s lips curled in a modicum of amusement. “Somethin like that.” A dark chuckle rumbled out of his chest as he eyed Jonathan down. “New blood.” It wasn’t a question but Jonathan felt like it should be on his end. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when footsteps drew near. He wasn’t the only one to hone into this detail as Geoffrey’s gaze snapped towards the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>It opened, exposing the large figure of Geoffrey’s second, dressed down into a pair of trousers, boots and a tight long sleeve. On his shoulder balanced precariously was the small form of what Jonathan realized was a rat. One large hand was raised to stroke the creature’s head and steady it when he came to stand before the leader.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Speak O’Connor.” Geoffrey ignored Jonathan as he listened.</p><p> </p><p>“The waterfront unit was tracking the Sewer Dog when a group of Skals attacked.” O’Connor informed.</p><p> </p><p>“Casualties?” </p><p> </p><p>“Two dead. Three injured. They managed to kill as many as they could but they were forced to retreat.” Jonathan listened to the conversation, noticing the lingering scent of blood drifting to his nostrils. His stomach clenched harder, rolling painful in a tight knot. He focused on the two men, the hardened features of McCullum and the softer expression of his Second. Upon closer inspection, Jonathan noticed a branded line across O’Connor left cheek, curving over the bridge of his nose. It was sloppy but healed well enough. He had seen far worse wounds from men in the war, entire limbs lost and in need to be amputated because of infection or severe damage to tissue and muscle. Without the appropriate equipment or supplies, they couldn’t graft new skin to the afflicted areas.</p><p> </p><p>He tilted his head slightly, his attention drawn towards the tiny curious squeak of the rat upon the man’s shoulder. Its fur was clean and glossy and given its size, it was well fed. His stomach tightened and the world spilled over in a red hue. Both men and the rat shifted to shadowy masses filled with throbbing red pathways. Jonathan startled, realizing he could hear every singular heart beat that pulsed inside all three. His mouth burned, a sharp pain growing in his jaw beckoned by the throbbing of his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“Leech!” Geoffrey growled, a quick motion of his arm and the sharp sound of metal clanging on metal jarred Jonathan out of the vision. He blinked, raising his hands to cover his ears against the sharp ringing. Daring a glance up, he realized the Guard had drawn a sword and struck the flat of the blade against the bars.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor flinched when his gaze met Geoffrey’s, slowly lowering his hands and ignoring the rattle of the chains on the cold metal floor. Geoffrey clicked his tongue and like that, the pair were on their way out of the room leaving Jonathan to his own confused and conflicted state.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Leech and the Hunter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In one day I wrote 3 chapters. So I guess I'm gonna be cranking out content for this until I figure out a general direction to go in. </p><p>Thank you for all the wonderful comments! I really appreciate it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jonathan's vision pulsed with the faint wisps of red that covered everything in a crimson smokescreen. The thundering of a nearby heart filling his ears in a phantom game of mocking his own, motionless and undead. He squeezed his eyes shut but the echoes of life only increased. The scent was a horrifying constant that lingered in his nostrils. Knuckles turned white as they gripped the bars, his forehead pressed hard against the cool metal of his confines as he breathed heavily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm so...hungry." His voice faded with a gasp as his head swam and the fresh coppery tinge in the air turned his vision a dark wash of red. Shadows warped like the shades in a vial, drifting and oozing in playful depths that were devilish in their mockery of his suffering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Please...I don't- I don't understand what's going on." Jonathan's pleas fell on deaf ears as the Guard perched in their seat and examined him through the bars. The cool gaze of indifference leveled upon him as he calculated the situation. Geoffrey McCullum, Jonathan only minutely recalled through the throes of his strife. A militant man with a penchant for torture as far as he could tell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two days, he sat here. For two days he’s been chained up within this cage and this man had taunted him with his visits. For two days, he hasn’t been given food or water and was met only with a snarled out </span>
  <em>
    <span>leech. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn’t even understand why all this was happening. Did he seriously survive a war just to die on the shores of his home at the hands of lunatics? The horrid irony was too much for him to bear. He forced himself to rationalize, to think critically. He tried to slip the chains but it was hopeless. There was no way to pick the lock to the bars and his pleas and cries for help never reached anyone. Eventually he would collapse to an unfathomable exhaustion and awaken stiff, sore and just as hungry as the day before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you people want from me?” He lamented, slipping his eyes shut as he focused on the cold touch of the bars. He couldn’t actively feel it, but his skin was just as chilled. All his years of medical knowledge assessed this predicament and resolved that he may not last another day or so. He was already badly hallucinating, he was weak and his core temperature had dropped. His nerves were no longer responding to surface temperatures. All he could surmise was that his body was already beginning to shut down. It didn’t entirely make sense to him though. That would be the expected outcome but he wasn’t running into respiratory problems and he still had energy despite the lack of strength in his motions. His mind was alive at least. Running a mile a minute, trying to deduce the rational answer to all of this. To the days leading up to this catastrophe that had become his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was infuriating. The silence that dragged on each day. This man would linger and watch for an hour or so, never comment aside from the occasional curses and slurs. He would watch him, like a cat staring down a trapped mouse and then leave without warning. Time would pass, several hours would go by and he’d return. Jonathan assumed the visits came at the beginning and the end of the day. He wondered if this man was waiting for him to die, if this was some sick twisted form of torture he concocted for his own sadistic pleasure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, I’m begging you.” Jonathan’s voice broke, a pitiful sound in his throat. “Water. Just a bit of water.” His pale gaze met the Guard’s but McCullum looked unswayed by the attempt to persuade. Jonathan’s head hung in defeat, the chain bound to his wrists rattled against the bars as he laid there at the base of the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several minutes ticked by with a quiet thump of a steady heartbeat punctuating the silence. Then he heard Geoffrey rise from his seat as he always did, and without any further prompting, leave. Jonathan doubted he would live to see him again. Another day would pass and he would most likely be gone with it. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. The odd lack of satisfaction was there in every breath, as if his lungs no longer had purpose. It was hard to describe but the simplest breathing exercises he used to help ease his anxiety when he was a new doctor working under pressure to perform his first surgeries, was terrifyingly lacking in their meditative qualities. Was he already so far gone?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few more minutes passed then footsteps approached. A familiar gait to the movements that left him surprised. He lifted his head just as the door opened and found Geoffrey had returned, a cup in one hand and a piece of bread wrapped in a cloth in the other. The Guard kicked the bars in warning with the toe of his boot, causing Jonathan to crawl back towards the furthest corner of the cage. Seeming satisfied with the compliance, Geoffrey balanced the bread in the same hand as the cup and unlocked the door, setting them on the floor by the entrance before locking the door once more. He took a few steps away from the bars and gave Jonathan a cold look then a slow nod of permission to approach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jonathan didn’t lunge at the meal but his movements were still quick to approach, fearing the man may change his mind and take it away from him. His stomach clenched tightly into a knot at the thought of food but he forced himself to drink the water. The satisfaction of quenching his thirst was absent. His thirst remained but now his stomach revolted against the introduction of fluid. He dropped the cup, spilling the rest of the water as he gagged and struggled to hold back. His body refused the command, forcing Jonathan to retch up what little he managed to swallow and what little else even remained in his stomach from the last time he ate. Which was….?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ignored the flash imagery of Mary lying dead in his arms and the warmth of her blood on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to me?” The words ripped from his throat in a sharp cry. His fingers wound into fists but he didn’t dare look at the Guard. His shoulders shook as he forced away the burning in his throat and ignored the rough ball of despair that edged its way up, making it hard to swallow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it, do you? You’re not human anymore. You’re a leech. A vampire.” Geoffrey spoke in an even tone, an absence of the malice Jonathan had expected from the declaration. “Seems your maker did a piss poor job with ye.” He practically spat the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>maker </span>
  </em>
  <span>as if it were foul on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? What is a- a vampire?” Jonathan shoved himself up to kneel, his head craned enough to meet Geoffrey’s gaze. His hand rested over his stomach as it continued to rage against his poor decision making.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Blood drinker. Parasite. Leech." McCullum lavished the words on his tongue as if he's spoken them a million times with ease. Given how many times he's turned those barbed words Jonathan's way, the good doctor didn't doubt it. "You feed on the blood of the living to keep yourself alive. Just like you did to that poor woman by the docks."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mary.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No! That's not possible."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It is and you have." Geoffrey affirmed. "The body was recovered shortly before we tracked you down."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jonathan shook his head in refusal but the Guard didn't appear at all amused by the display. Geoffrey's lips curled back into a sneer as he withdrew a knife from his belt and rolled his sleeve up to expose his forearm. A quick shallow cut across the top of his arm, just enough to break the epidermal layer. The coppery scent flooded the air and filled every breath Jonathan took. His pupils blew wide and nostrils flared as he was compelled closer by the scent. His teeth ached, that same painful stabbing along his jaw as his fangs grew into view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're a monster." Geoffrey growled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The refusal continued as Jonathan forced himself to back away from the bars, no matter how painful the effort was. He ignored the red wash out of his vision, squeezing his eyes shut as he denied himself the one thing that would stop all the pain that was inflicted upon him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not a monster." It was barely a breath from his lips. A broken gasp stifled in his throat. Seeming satisfied for the evening, Geoffrey departed and shortly after, Jonathan succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed upon his eyelids and cast him into dreamless sleep.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When next he awoke, Jonathan noticed a change in his cell. He hadn't moved from where he huddled into the corner but someone had entered while he slept and cleaned it up. The floor smelled freshly mopped with the sharp familiar bite of cleaner in the air. It stung his nostrils and left him uneasy with the knowledge that he slept through it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feared whatever these men had planned and was wary to let his guard down if he could help it. But the days were getting to him, that much was obvious if he couldn't hold off the exhaustion each day. He was helpless, sleeping like the...</span>
  <em>
    <span>like the dead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a bitter thought that he refused to acknowledge. As if allowing the idea to linger would somehow make it true. And yet...he couldn't deny what he had done. The blood that covered his hands and the sweet taste of it that washed over his tongue. The cry of his sister calling his name was the dagger twisting inside his chest with a painful edge. But for a brief euphoric moment, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything felt right.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as that realization disgusted him. It was the truth. Just as honest and real as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fangs</span>
  </em>
  <span> that protruded from his gums at the mildest hint of blood on the air. Or the fact he shot himself and not even a scar remained. He had checked, peeling back the buttons of his shirt to inspect the would be wound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm going insane." Jonathan murmured to himself. "Monsters don't exist. People don't just die then come back to life. That's not physically or medically possible." He shook his head in dismissal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Believe it leech." The thick accent gave away the intruder upon his thoughts. Jonathan startled, jolting upright with tension wound in every limb like a cat coiled and ready to dart for the nearest cover. A breathy chuckle of amusement followed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Dr. Jonathan Emmet Reid." Geoffrey purred the name out as if proud of his discovery. "You have quite the background Dr. Reid."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You investigated me?" Jonathan was a bit put off by that. If these nutjobs found his name so easily, then could they find his family? Are Mother and Avery safe? The fear was realized all too suddenly, a panic that must have crossed his features by the amused sound from the Guard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Have a few skeletons you're hiding?" Geoffrey teased, leaning back against the cold stone wall adjacent the cell door. "I'm amused to discover your profession. A leech as the leading expert in Blood Transfusions and various blood related medical research? It sounds like a joke with quite the punchline lined up. Your reputation precedes your turning though. Guess your Maker has a sense of humor."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not laughing." Jonathan blanched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Aye, but I bet someone else is somewhere." Geoffrey waved a dismissive hand around. His gaze resting pointedly at Jonathan, meanwhile. "I'll throw ya a bone then. You seem to be genuinely in the dark here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I would appreciate an explanation." Jonathan agreed calmly. His tone was as regal as most West Enders but lacking the hoity toity air that accompanied so many of them. Jonathan, Geoffrey realized, never approached him with that condescending look. Not as a Toff or as a Leech. It was rare, he would admit but he didn't doubt the machinations of leeches and the deceitful masks of toffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I favor a bit of show'n tell. What d'ya say? I bet you'd fancy a chance to stretch your legs." Geoffrey offered, stepping towards the door to the cell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jonathan's hope for a moment's reprieve was dashed by his own doubts as he backed away from the cell bars with uncertainty. "This wouldn't be a trick, would it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geoffrey smiled, like a cat baring its teeth at prey. Jonathan could almost see the claws carefully tucked away from view just waiting to pounce. "Would you believe me if I told you it wasn't?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not really."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If I wanted you dead, leech, I'd have a hell of a lot easier time doing it in the cell."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The State of Curiosity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan wished he had just stayed in his cell. It wasn't an outwardly terrible experience. Well, somewhat. Not entirely. Okay, yes, it was horrible and he hated it with a passion. He didn't trust Geoffrey and he definitely didn't like being led around on the end of a chain like a dog or the fact he was forced to wear a muzzle with his hands bound behind his back. It was humiliating just for starters. Not to mention degrading and downright unnecessary.</p><p> </p><p>But it was eye opening. He didn't get to go far from his cell. They never left the lower floor but he did get a glimpse outside and discovered what he assumed had been mornings were actually when the sun had set.</p><p> </p><p>The man, O'Connor, Jonathan recalled, was waiting for them two rooms down the hall where a table was set up. There was a chair as well, one that Jonathan was <em> politely </em>asked to take a seat in. He didn't find it amusing when his hands were synched down to the arms of the chair but it was far more comfortable than having them behind his back. And surprisingly enough, the muzzle came off.</p><p> </p><p>From there, he received a lesson on Leeches. Literally. He was the test dummy for this little lesson. Orichalcum dusted on his hand caused the strength to slowly leave his body as if someone had put him through the ringer. His fingers twitched in an attempt to curl into a fist but it was futile. His brows furrowed in confusion as Geoffrey poured water over the afflicted area to wash the powder away. </p><p> </p><p>"See leech?" He pointed out, awaiting the doctor's response. </p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't make sense." He prompted. "The medical reasoning behind it, what does it do to the body to cause such a reaction?"</p><p> </p><p>"When it comes to your kind, science and magic become similar in that respect. It's hard to say why some of these things work the way they do." Geoffrey informed, turning his attention towards the table as he plucked a cross from it.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was not a man of faith, he was a man of science but even he couldn't conjure a reason behind why the cross emitted a light that repulsed him. A searing pain scorched into his soul as the cross neared, ripping a scream from his chest that filled the room. He struggled in the chair, desperate to get away from it and shield himself at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>It was over as quickly as it had begun, a relief for the doctor as he heaved each breath in his chest and trembled against the sturdy backing of the wooden chair. His head lolled back, eyes fluttered shut as he recovered from the experience.</p><p> </p><p>When he managed to wrangle in his composure, he found both Geoffrey and O'Connor staring at him with kindred looks of scrutiny. Geoffrey's arms were crossed as he stood on the other side of the table. O'Connor was scratching the head of his pet rat as it popped up out of his front pocket and peered with beady eyes towards the doctor. </p><p> </p><p>"That's mildly disturbing." Jonathan murmured, nodding towards the rat. </p><p> </p><p>"Francach won't harm a fly. He's got manners, sir." O'Connor answered kindly.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan gave a small nod as he explained. "In the war, rats were a common problem. They often attacked and ate people alive in the trenches."</p><p> </p><p>"Have a phobia then?" Geoffrey nudged.</p><p> </p><p>"Me? No. Not really. Many of my patients did and I'm accustomed to keeping an eye out for them when working in the tents." He sighed, shaking his head. "On top of their aggression, they carried many diseases and were often the cause for infection and sickness in most of the men."</p><p> </p><p>"Francach is clean and polite. I can assure you that sir. Otherwise he wouldn't be allowed in the barracks with me. I've known him since he was just a babe that lost his mum." O'Connor informed proudly as if he were the parent for a bright minded child and not the owner of a rodent with a bad reputation for plagues.</p><p> </p><p>The preening of his second was ignored by Geoffrey as he stepped towards the table. "Anyway." He cleared his throat pointedly, drawing both men back to the topic at hand. He reached into a pouch and lifted a small bundle of fresh herbs. Long stemmed leaves with ovular tips and little white berries.</p><p> </p><p>"Isn't it a bit early to be bringing out the mistletoe?" Jonathan inquired in a teasing tone, raising an inquisitive brow at the Guard.</p><p> </p><p>"Fresh plants work well against leeches. They tend to burn and cause rashes." Geoffrey explained, peeling back a piece of the stem to expose the damp fibers of living material. He pressed the pieces against Jonathan's skin, laid across his hand before the doctor could protest. He groaned, curling his fingers into tight fists as he tried to pull away from the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey withdrew the plant after a moment and inspected the red flare on Jonathan's skin. It was an angry blemish against the pale canvas of his exposed arm.</p><p> </p><p>The Ekon struggled in the seat, groaning under his breath as he willed himself to ignore the pain. It faded slowly, a lack of nutrients in his body since the night he turned made for a very tedious recovery process. Judging by the stains of his clothes, he had lost a large quantity of blood and from first hand experience, that made for dangerous territory. A starved Ekon was a weak Ekon, yes. But it also made them far more unpredictable and wild. At the moment, they were lucky Jonathan was allowing them so much freedom and compliance without putting up much of a fight.</p><p> </p><p>Which struck a paranoid thought in Geoffrey's mind. He dismissed it for the moment and directed his attention towards O'Connor. "That's enough for the night. I think the leech has earned a break."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes sir." Without further prompting or direction, O'Connor started the tedious task of binding Jonathan's wrists behind his back and placing the muzzle back on his face. The good doctor complied as he did since the beginning and allowed O'Connor to guide him back to his cell.</p><p> </p><p>He waited by the bars upon entry and held his hands through the metal work as the restraints were removed and rearranged. The muzzle slipped free and fell into O'Connor's hand, allowing Jonathan to stretch his jaw and rub away the brief traces of its presence from his face. He lingered near the bars as O'Connor did, head cocked as he listened to the approach of unfamiliar footsteps.</p><p> </p><p>The door at the end of the corridor opened and in walked a man, half the size of O'Connor with a lean build. A mop of dark curly hair hanging down in front of his face, softened green eyes staring straight ahead with purpose in his gait. He had darker toned skin, a light olive shade that wasn't common around these parts. Immigrant maybe? Jonathan wondered.</p><p> </p><p>"Vinny." O'Connor greeted with a nod, taking in the supplies he carried with him. A tray balanced in one hand and a bucket sloshing with warm water in the other. A few droplets splashed his pant leg but the discomfort of wet clothing was blatantly ignored.</p><p> </p><p>"McCullum said to bring this down for the <em> guest. </em>" He explained in a rather plain english accent. It had the tiniest hint of something more rural in the underlying tones but Jonathan barely noticed.</p><p> </p><p>On the tray was an empty cup, a towel and a fresh pair of clothes all neatly folded. O'Connor raised a brow at the contents of the tray then took them carefully from Vinny. "What's the cup for?"</p><p> </p><p>"Feeding him." Vincent explained, rolling his sleeve up to his elbow after setting the bucket down. He pulled a knife from his belt and made an incision over a series of older scars and newer wounds that criss crossed his skin.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" The concern laced in the doctor's voice couldn't be missed. He shuffled uneasily by the bars as he examined the clinical motion of slicing into flesh. The burst of copper scent in the air made his jaw ache and his fangs grow, peeking out from behind his lips. He stepped back away from the bars as the two guards carried on with their task and started to fill the glass on the tray with the warm rich fluid.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan shuddered and shook his head, turning away from the pair with the assumption that this must be some kind of test from Geoffrey. To see if he is the monster they all claim him to be.</p><p> </p><p>"Here leech. Drink up." Vincent called, tapping the metal edge of his knife against the bars.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn't move and didn't look at the men. "I'm fine without it, thank you."</p><p> </p><p>"Have you not been listening at all?" O'Connor prodded, just as confused as his counterpart about the refusal.</p><p> </p><p>"I have and I would just prefer not to drink any at all." Jonathan protested.</p><p> </p><p>The two men stared at each other with slack jawed confusion. "If you're worried about this being some kind of test or trick, it's none of that." Vincent exclaimed. "It would be pointless."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan turned to face them, blatantly ignoring the cup on the tray and choosing to breath through his mouth instead of his nostrils as much as possible. "I don't want to drink from people, indirectly or not. There must be another way. An <em> alternative. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Aye, but it won't hold you as well. You'll be starving again in half a day's time."</p><p> </p><p>"I've had worse." Jonathan pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>"Suit yourself." Vincent shrugged and wiped his blade off on the top of his pant leg before tucking the knife away. He looked to O'Connor to unlock the cell before placing the rest of the supplies within easy reach of the Ekon. Once he was back outside of the cell, he stood by as O'Connor unlocked Jonathan's shackles through the bars and watched over him while he undressed and started to wash up.</p><p> </p><p>After a minute of rubbing his sore wrists then beginning the long winded task of scrubbing the blood and grime off his skin from his days of living hell. He prompted a question. This time, directed at the new addition. "I'm not sure if I caught it correctly but your name is Vincent?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah." He spoke calmly, folding his arms over his chest as he let the blood dry.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm Dr.Reid." Jonathan introduced.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent grunted in acknowledgement.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan cleared his throat as he peeled off the ruined shirt and scrubbed at his skin with the wash rag, his attention split between the task and his conversation. "I couldn't help but notice that your blood smells… <em> different </em>from the others."</p><p> </p><p>"That's cause I'm sick, Doc." Vincent dismissed. "My body makes too much blood, as the Docs at Pembroke explained it."</p><p> </p><p>"Polycythemia Vera. An incredibly rare form of blood cancer." Jonathan hummed, nodding towards Vincent's arms and the myriad of scars. "Do you bleed yourself regularly to control the symptoms?"</p><p> </p><p>"Aye. Otherwise I get headaches and pass out." </p><p> </p><p>"That's common for that affliction I'm afraid. Did they inform you of the severity of it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not at all. The head Doc said they couldn't tell yet." Vincent waved dismissively, eyes leveled on Jonathan as he wrung out the rag and dipped it back into the bucket.</p><p> </p><p>"Hopefully yours is a mild one. If it gets worse…" Jonathan's voice trailed off slowly before shaking his head. "My apologies. I didn't mean to pry. It was unbecoming of me."</p><p> </p><p>"Nah, it's amusing to say the least. Never met a leech doctor before."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan chuckled in genuine amusement. "From the sounds of it, I doubt that would be a common profession among the likes of us."</p><p> </p><p>Both Guards responded with a hum in acknowledgement and allowed the doctor to carry on with his task. Once he was cleaned up as well as he could get with the meager offerings, and dressed in the fresh clothes which fit a shy bit snug but well enough to still be comfortable in, he felt far more human than he had in weeks. Maybe even months. He left the dirtied clothes on the tray and hung the rag on the edge of the bucket and placed them by the door and waited for O'Connor to return the chains to his wrists through the bars before Vincent retrieved them.</p><p> </p><p>After that, Jonathan was left alone for the rest of the night until the sun rose and he fell into a dead sleep once more.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave a comment and kudos on what you think so far! All comments are appreciated and encouraged! Thank you so much for reading and keep an eye out for the next update. </p><p>Second:</p><p>There is a Vampyr server called Pembroke Hospital on discord. </p><p>https://discord.gg/z7jg6Gt</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Flaw of Acceptance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"She was your sister." Geoffrey's voice was hard and even. A change to the normally icy barbs that were directed his way but Jonathan wasn't sure if this new tone was better or worse. It seemed <em> disgusted </em> almost. He couldn't deny that though, honestly. He was ashamed of himself. He <em> hated </em>what he had become and what it made him do.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was quiet for a long time, never lifting his gaze to meet Geoffrey's. He stayed in his huddled corner, staring down at the chains that trapped his wrists. At the prison he so willingly accepted. Maybe it was his way of repenting for what he did, to ensure he doesn't hurt another soul ever again. To keep himself locked away where all monsters deserve to be. It's the choice he has made.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't want to hurt her." Jonathan's voice was barely a whisper, driven rough by the ball of emotions he was trying to ignore. "I didn't know what was happening...I-"</p><p> </p><p>"You killed her." Geoffrey ground out.</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't ask for this!" Jonathan snapped, his gaze fixed on Geoffrey with coiled frustration. He looped his arms around himself, feeling the weight of the chains against his chest as he averted his gaze. "I woke up in a pit of corpses and all I could do was stumble towards the closest living body. I was looking for <em> help </em>but something else came over me." </p><p> </p><p>He shifted, curled up into a tighter ball in his dark little corner. "I didn't even hear Mary calling my name as she pulled me into her arms. The relief of finding someone was absent. All I could hear, all I could <em> feel </em>was her heart beating so loudly and the voices beckoning to me. It called insistently, drowning everything else out."</p><p> </p><p>"You bit her. You drank your fill and left her to die."</p><p> </p><p>"No!" Jonathan protested, lunging to his feet so quickly he startled himself. In the blink of an eye, he was at the bars, knuckles white as they clutched the metal in his grip. He didn't even notice that he just jumped eight feet of space in milliseconds. The cold air displaced in a push of shadows. Geoffrey's eyes narrowed on Jonathan, body taut with one hand resting on his hip. It was automatic, but Jonathan didn't seem to notice the change. His emotions were running high as he refused to let Geoffrey paint him so viciously.</p><p> </p><p>"I started to drink, I hadn't meant to- I didn't know what I was doing. It was <em> primal </em>, what came over me. Instinctive. But after a minute I realized what I had done. I came back to my senses and tried to stop the bleeding. I tried so hard to save her." Jonathan ignored the dampness that trailed down his cheeks. He didn't bother wiping them away as he lamented softly. "My sweet Mary."</p><p> </p><p>He sucked in a sharp breath he didn't need. He boiled it all down to habit at this point. "I'm going to find the person that did this to me and I'm going to make them answer for it." He ground out.</p><p> </p><p>"Good luck doing that from a prison cell but I applaud your ambition, Leech." Geoffrey stood from his seat and adjusted the sword on his hip, the tail of his coat hiding most of the weapon from view with only the hilt peeking out into the open. One hand rested on the pommel in a casual motion as he swaggered by.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan held firm to the bars for a passing moment until the Guard disappeared behind the locked door. His gaze directed towards the newspaper left behind, abandoned on the chair Geoffrey had been sitting in. He couldn't reach it from here but he could see bits and pieces of the headlines.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Epidemic in the Streets of London</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Spanish Flu Continues to Rise </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> Death Toll Climbing </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"What is going on out there?" He murmured to himself, scrubbing his palms over his face as he smeared the drying tears away. His distracted thoughts seized in horror when he realized they came away bloody.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>"Feeding time Leech!" Vincent called as he rattled the bars to the cell door as he passed by. He peered into the confines where Jonathan had nestled himself into the usual corner and raised a curious brow in the guard's direction. Vincent carried a cloth sack that <em> squirmed </em> and it was honestly concerning for the doctor.</p><p> </p><p>"It's too small for a human at least." Jonathan grunted as he pushed himself to his feet and massaged the stiffness of his joints. He couldn't exactly <em> feel </em> the cold that numbed his body in the traditional sense but he could feel the stiffness it caused as a side effect. He massaged the harder to thaw areas in idle motion as he waited for Vincent to open the door and introduce the main course.</p><p> </p><p>"I'd have added rats to the menu choices but O'Connor would have strangled me for it. On the menu for today is Dove. Freshly caught, wing sheared and prepared alive." Vincent announced, tossing the writhing bag to the floor before locking the door behind it. He stood by and waited for Jonathan to react. Maybe he expected him to dive upon it like a ravenous beast and tear it to pieces. The whole ordeal might have been a bit anticlimactic for the guard but Jonathan took his time appraising the offering. This was just as new and awkward for him as it probably was for these men to watch it all happen.</p><p> </p><p>Or, maybe it wasn't.</p><p> </p><p>He was probably vastly alone in this unending sensation of discomfort that the change in his life brought.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the bag and found four struggling doves flapping desperately inside the sack. Their legs bound together making it hard for them to stand upright or hop away. Their wings were clipped down to prevent flight as they squawked and screamed fearfully.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt bad for the little creatures as he carefully pulled them from the bag one at a time. He found it hard to go about this whole situation. It wasn't <em> human </em> no, that was a good thing. Far easier to deal with but still. He wasn't a cruel man in any regard but he knew when action is required in dire situations. His hands are far from clean.</p><p> </p><p>"In the war, I killed men, just as any other soldier did. I acted to save my patients lives. I acted to save my own life. But now…" Jonathan trailed off, examining the dove that sat petrified in his grasp. Beady eyes gazing up at him with feathers fluffed and head cocked, gauging the threat of the creature before it. He never thought he'd be a predator in this sort of situation before.</p><p> </p><p>"You must eat to survive." Vincent informed matter-of-factly.</p><p> </p><p>"Is that absolute?" Jonathan countered.</p><p> </p><p>"McCullum said you made a vow. A purpose for this new existence. If you die now, if you starve yourself, you will never be strong enough to get the justice you seek for your loved one."</p><p> </p><p>"When you put it that way, it sounds ideal. As if taking a life of any kind is but a trifle." Jonathan gently shifted the dove in his grasp, forcing it to look away and face Vincent instead. The bird didn't seem eased at all by this outcome and struggled to not lose sight of the monster that held it so close.</p><p> </p><p>"It makes us no better to choose who lives or who dies, but sacrifices must be made. Our judgement waits at the end." Vincent took a seat on the unoccupied chair Geoffrey left behind. </p><p> </p><p>"You were a soldier?" Jonathan glanced up with a look of intrigue.</p><p> </p><p>"A sniper."</p><p> </p><p>"You were well acquainted with making hard choices." It was an observation, not a judgement. "As a doctor, I swore to do no harm but as a soldier, I swore to let no harm be done to my comrades. It was a tightrope I walked day in and day out. I gained no satisfaction in taking a life. My purpose is to heal people and help them become better."</p><p> </p><p>"And now your purpose is to take lives to prolong your own. A twisted sort of irony, I'd say. God sure has a funny way of dealing cards." Vincent gave a mirthless laugh.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm a man of science, not faith. But my mother was a devout believer. Through the war I've witnessed many miracles that science just can't justify as logic but it happened and I do acknowledge something more is at work at times." And now, he was a creature of nightmares that defied all science and rationality. Truly a higher power was somewhere having a good old laugh to themselves at his expense.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, a heavy sound that rushed from his chest. It ruffled the feathers on the dove's back and caused it to trill in alarm. It was quick, hopefully painless for his own conscience. His fangs sunk into the tender flesh of the fragile creature, it shuddered, twitched and the warm blood spilled into his mouth and pooled down his throat. It didn't taste as sweet as a human's and it certainly didn't smell as appetizing but it was sustenance. He could pinch his nose and bear through it like the bitter pill it was as long as he could keep on living.</p><p> </p><p>He drank all four little bodies dry and tucked them back into the sack with a look of revulsion. "This is disgusting." He hissed under his breath, a small shake of the head as he shoved the bag back towards the door and licked any spare droplets from his lips. He had half a suspicion that he had a piece of a feather stuck between his incisor but a quick swipe of his tongue told him it was only paranoia.</p><p> </p><p>Changing course on the topic, he turned his attention towards the guard as he moved to retrieve the bag. Jonathan returned to his corner as was his usual protocol and watched at a distance. "Do you take any medication for your condition?"</p><p> </p><p>Vincent was caught off guard by the change in subject, causing him to stumble with the bag and nearly drop it. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the leech before reminding himself that Jonathan was a doctor as well. It was a new experience really.</p><p> </p><p>"Not really." He answered after securing the door shut.</p><p> </p><p>"An anticoagulant could help. It would prevent clotting which would lessen your risk of potentially fatal outcomes." Jonathan thought it over for a moment. "But you would have to be careful, any minor wounds could quickly become fatal while taking these medicines. It will lessen the clotting but an injury that won't normally be a risk could become serious for your condition."</p><p> </p><p>"So I have the choice of letting my blood clot inside me and kill me, or treat the clotting and let myself bleed to death at some point or another." Vincent pointed out. "Quite the double edged sword. If I wasn't part of Priwen, I may have taken you up on that offer. My chance of dying from my condition is just as high as a Vulkod ripping me apart, Dr.Reid. I'll play the hand I'm dealt and let the rest fall into place. But I appreciate the thought."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan could respect that refusal at least. Vincent was a soldier, fully aware of the battles he fought both on the inside and around him. It was more than most men had and he appeared prepared for the worst and content with the outcome which was surprising. Though, quite a few soldiers returned from the front with a dark mindset about the world around them. A skewed take on life and death that they had accepted when any moment they could be ripped apart by a shelling, buried alive by a collapsed tunnel or trench, or eaten alive by rats. A bullet was a mercy most days.</p><p> </p><p>"Vincent?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p> </p><p>"What's happening with the epidemic?" Jonathan inquired.</p><p> </p><p>"That's right. You just got back from the front. Well-" Vincent scratched at the short stubble growing in along his jaw after a couple days without a shave. "A lot of good people have been dying out there. The streets are a mess between the sick and the Skals."</p><p> </p><p>"Skals?" </p><p> </p><p>"Leeches. Lesser than yourself. The proper term for your kind would be Ekons. Ekons are higher vampires that look like everyday people. Makes them harder to track. Skals are lesser, weaker and more wild. They are the failed spawn of Ekons." Vincent explained. "They're deformed and sickly looking. Normally they're not usually a problem but since the war and now the epidemic, a new breed of Skals has been surfacing."</p><p> </p><p>"I see. I overheard McCullum and O'Connor discussing an attack by a group of skals."</p><p> </p><p>"We lost a good group of boys out there. I was with them on that patrol. They came out of nowhere and they were everywhere. All our escape routes had been overrun." Vincent growled bitterly. "Fucking leeches, the lot of them. They don't kill to feed. They do it just because they can. Destructive greedy little bastards."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry for your loss, Vincent. You have my condolences." It was all he could offer given the situation but he doubted that was much consolation coming from a vampire. Vincent didn't say it but Jonathan could see it in his eyes. In the way he shifted uncomfortably and the tightness in his jaw. The barely concealed look of disgust. Jonathan was an unwelcome reminder and it only further drove the blade into his chest about how wrong his existence was.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent ignored the offered words and scooped up the sack with a dismissive shake of his head. "McCullum might stop by later. He's got a meeting so the chance of him coming before sunrise is low." He informed, before briskly leaving. The door banged shut behind him, abandoning Jonathan in the oppressive lonely silence of his little cell once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Instinct Over Intrigue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Fascinating." Jonathan purred as he examined the shadows that curled around him. He had been startled awake by a rather loud explosion that happened somewhere on the premises but wasn't informed the reason why. It dragged him back to his days of watching the skies paranoid whenever a distant bang went off, terrified of gunfire, shellings and raids.</p><p> </p><p>In his momentary shock of fear, he managed to shadow step across his cell and gracelessly run right smack into the bars. It rang an alarm through his head with growing pain and finished waking him up the rest of the way. But he was just as intrigued about this new ability as he was surprised by it.</p><p> </p><p>It took a few trial and error, and a few dozen hits against the walls that would have badly bruised or broken a few bones were he a mortal man. He concentrated on projecting himself forward, strained against the thoughts and tried every perceivable way to make himself <em> flow </em> forward. It was only when he cleared his mind and <em> felt </em>himself unravel like wind through the trees or water trickling through fingers, that he felt himself lift and move without any physical effort necessary.</p><p> </p><p>He managed several attempts, jumping and gliding across his tiny cell until he felt confident in his ability to flow and move like the shadows that blanketed the dark little corners of the room. The primary flaw, he discovered, is he can’t free himself of his chains using the ability and he certainly can’t jump through the bars that confine him. It has limits of course but was still a very useful lesson nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>His early morning experiment was halted sadly as he recognized the easy going swagger of a very familiar set of footsteps. He stood near the bars, fingers curled around the cool metalwork in anticipation for what today may bring, still riding the high of his discovery and the delightful thrill it brought racing down his spine. The glowing positivity must have bled through his features because the moment Geoffrey laid eyes upon him, he was suspicious, stopping in his tracks to assess the room with a quick once over.</p><p> </p><p>“What has you in a good mood, leech?” His words were wary as he slowly approached the cell but lingered just beyond arm’s reach should Jonathan try anything unsavory.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing in particular, Geoffrey. Just another day to explore the mysteries of this strange ethereal existence I’ve found myself in.” Jonathan purred, a sound that seemed off putting for the guard. Jonathan didn’t miss the automatic reaction as Geoffrey’s hand fell to his hip, fingers itching to grab his sword in preparation for a strike. </p><p> </p><p>Sensing the discomfort on the air and catching the bitter stench of apprehension curling from the man, Jonathan took the initiative. He raised his hands in a placating gesture and retreated back to his corner. “My apologies. I did not intend to make you nervous. I am merely trying to think on the positive side in this bleak situation. If I’m to be stuck here for what I perceive to be a very long time, I figured I’d make it count in some small way.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what way would that be, leech?” Geoffrey challenged.</p><p> </p><p>“I am a scientist, Geoffrey. I enjoy theories and hypotheses. I find satisfaction in facts. This whole ordeal is very surreal to me and finding small rational discoveries helps me cope with the little things that I have yet to find a way to explain. I’ve been analyzing my situation for days, Geoffrey. Try to understand how infuriating it is to wrap my head around something that is, in a way, perceived purely as myth and superstitions.” Jonathan waved a hand in a half aborted gesture as if it could sum up the entirety of his inner conflict with but a flick of a finger. He only wished it could be that easy. Though, life and in extension, <em> unlife </em> are never that simple.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey hummed, a long drawn out sound that didn’t quite sound like a noise of understanding but alas, baby steps. He would come around to understanding soon enough. Jonathan was certain of it. Even if it was his own tiny little game that he was playing with himself. He had to keep things interesting in the long run otherwise he would go insane with the absence of companionship.</p><p> </p><p>“Well then, if you come about an epiphany of some kind, do feel free to enlighten the rest of us.” The sarcasm was a welcome reprieve after the first few days of bitter slurs directed his way. It was strange with how little they’ve interacted, that Geoffrey’s prickly and rough demeanor was growing on him. Something about the whole grim facade made him that much more enticing to poke at. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s on the agenda for today?”</p><p> </p><p>“How about a walk to stretch your legs? Don’t know about you, but I have the feeling you’re getting tired of this cell.” The offer was a surprise but Jonathan wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“I would appreciate an evening stroll.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is a small reward for your compliance, leech. Any funny business, and I won’t hesitate to slice your head clean off your body.” Geoffrey warned sternly. The cold edge was acknowledged but not commented upon by Jonathan.</p><p> </p><p>The good doctor nodded in understanding. “Of course.” He folded his hands in front of himself and waited patiently for Geoffrey’s command. Despite his proven cooperation, he still ended up wearing the muzzle like a common beast and his arms were bound behind his back. The chain hung like a lead down from his wrists but Jonathan walked by Geoffrey’s side, always in plain view of the hunter and always within reach of a quick blade strike.</p><p> </p><p>Today they went beyond the narrow corridor and the small room that was used to explore different weaknesses of vampires. Past the room was a doorway that, surprisingly enough led out into a courtyard. There was shrubbery and bushes growing along the sides, and a training space worn down to dirt patches with targets and dummies on wooden posts erected along one wall. The dummies were dressed up in rags with painted faces that resembled the handiwork of children trying to depict the monsters from their nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>There were supply crates, a wooden table with tools spread across it in the middle of putting some contraption together. On the furthest side of the courtyard were three wooden boxes that were built low to the ground. Upon closer inspection, Jonathan could see there was a garden growing herbs and other plants. It looked like the previous occupants of this building were using it in the beginning of the summer months and the guards that were stationed here had taken it over and carried on caring for it.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s O’Connor’s pet project.” Geoffrey grumbled. “Lads gotta have hobbies aside from killing leeches. Most of the men find something to keep them busy in their downtime.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was the same at war. The worst part of the job was waiting. The idle passing of time with nothing to distract from what was going to happen. The anticipation was as maddening an experience as the rest of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I doubt a doctor had much down time.” Geoffrey scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan sighed. “Some days.” He shrugged. “Somes days were slow. Most were not, but for those few that were, it wasn’t much of a relief. You grow paranoid without the constant activity. The quiet makes things harder to handle as odd as that may sound.”</p><p> </p><p>“Restlessness.” Geoffrey added. “It’s like waiting for the start of a hunt. Knowing that your prey is nearby but the waiting, it pulls at your nerves. Action keeps things calm, makes it easy to go about the job.”</p><p> </p><p>“War is the same no matter how or where you fight it.” Jonathan sighed, tilting his head up to gaze at the skyline. Between the lights and the cloudy dreary weather of winter nearing, he couldn’t glimpse a single star. It didn’t matter though, as he relished in the cool breeze drifting through his hair and the scent of the damp soil and foliage beneath his feet. His very bare feet. He forgot he wasn’t wearing shoes of any kind and the squishy sensation of dirt between his toes was a pleasant surprise that pulled a smile from his lips. It was compressed by the placement of the muzzle, making it skewed and uncomfortable but it amused him nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>They made a couple laps around the courtyard, Jonathan stopped long enough to inspect some of the plants O'Connor was growing. He made some idle commentary on a few familiar flowers that his mother was fond of and the memories attached to it. Despite the situation, and the fact Jonathan felt like a prized lapdog at the end of a lead, he found the evening was turning rather pleasant if not also highly peculiar. Geoffrey listened to him ramble and would grunt, nod or tease him for the comments but never berate or insult him for the momentary weakness.</p><p> </p><p>"Is she still around? Your mother that is." It was carefully worded with a wariness to the guard's tone. </p><p> </p><p>"Last I knew, yes. She and Mary were waiting for me to come home. I received a letter from them the week prior." Jonathan assured. "I don't know how well she'll take the news. First my father, then my brother-in-law, my nephew and now Mary. I guess….she could add me to the list as well. Every person she loved is now gone."</p><p> </p><p>"I know it's not worth much, but I'm sorry." Geoffrey spoke lowly, his words hushed and cautious.</p><p> </p><p>"I appreciate the sentiment." Jonathan nodded curtly as he rose to his feet. In the corner of his eye he caught movement and the pungent stench of grief intermingled with fear. A familiar shape raised quickly in the hands of a young man that approached.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan moved on instinct, his wrists flexed in the restraints as he curled in on himself and twisted away. A full body flinch fighting against the binds that secured him. The world slowed to a crawl as a red mist swelled up around him in a vortex of motion, securing a barrier of what he assumed by the scent to be blood. The young man squeezed the trigger as the gun went off with a deafening crack. The doctor squeezed his eyes shut and solidified the shield that defended him against the attack.</p><p> </p><p>The bullet was absorbed by the blood flowing around Jonathan as the world fell back into motion. His nostrils flared and pale blue eyes widened in disbelief, as the young guard tried for a second shot. Fingers frantic to pull the trigger again when Geoffrey rushed into him like a tank and wrestled him to the ground, pinning the gun in place.</p><p> </p><p>"McKinley! What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Geoffrey demanded.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm killing leeches!"</p><p> </p><p>"Not this leech!"</p><p> </p><p>"Why? Why sir? They're all bloodthirsty monsters. They killed Charlie and Lindsey! They took my <em> brother </em> from me and you want to keep them as a pet? I thought you of all people would understand sir!" The young man practically screamed, tears racing down his face as he protested and writhed beneath Geoffrey's firm hold. His cries twisting into tormented sobs as he fell still beneath his leader. "Those bastards took Charlie from me!"</p><p> </p><p>With the better angle after his shield faded away and less danger imminent, Jonathan got a good look at the young man. He appeared to be just old enough to serve but given the way he moved, he had an underlying injury somewhere along his leg. There was no scent of fresh blood on the air and the movements didn't appear to cause him pain during his struggle. <em> An older injury </em>.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes were ringed with dark bruises, partially from a shiner he caught in the left side of his face but mostly from insomnia. His cheeks were hollow, the shadows sinking deep into his thin pale face. He looked sickly. He was tall but slim, barely a twig in comparison to the sheer bulk of Geoffrey's own size crouched over the youth. A tangled mess of greasy red curls fell in front of green eyes, red and swollen from his grief.</p><p> </p><p>The young man sobbed against Geoffrey, one hand curled into the lapels of the guard's coat, fingers wrung through the scarf pulling it out of the neatly tucked placement. Geoffrey hushed him, a gentle hand resting on the side of his face as he garnered his attention.</p><p> </p><p>"I know lad but this ain't the way to do it. You're picking fights that you're not prepared to win. Revenge is one thing, but what you're doing is just plain stupid." The chastisement was hard, a firm press of words meant to knock some sense into the skull of a grieving young man. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan held completely still where he was left, his chain dangling down to the ground as he watched the guards flood the courtyard, inspecting the scene before them. O'Connor was among them, carefully collecting the young man and disarming him on the spot. His comrades approached with a curt command from their superiors and soon the courtyard was emptied out just as quickly as it cluttered. Geoffrey had turned towards Jonathan with a stoic expression. His hand seized the chain at the end of Jonathan's wrists and nearly dragged the Ekon back to his cell. </p><p> </p><p>He didn't speak a word the whole way there. Jonathan didn't dare disturb the silence that settled like a suffocating shroud between them, snuffing out what small bit of kindness they had nurtured in their short walk. Geoffrey didn't say a single word until Jonathan was in the cell and chained down to the anchor in the wall. He didn't free the leech's hands or even remove the muzzle. Instead, he stood there, just out of reach of the chain and glared him down with cold calculated scrutiny.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, when Jonathan's discomfort had him fidgeting and the need to break the quiet was almost too much, Geoffrey spoke. His words as sharp as the blade he wielded and just as threatening in their search for the truth.</p><p> </p><p>"How long have you been able to do that? Manipulate blood and make a shield." He added.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stumbled for an explanation but he couldn't exactly find the right words. He was shocked and exasperated. "Just now. I didn't even know I could do that! Can all vampires do that?"</p><p> </p><p>"Higher leeches can." Geoffrey corrected sternly. He examined Jonathan closely and scoffed. "Instinct then."</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"A flinch response. You saw the gun and defended yourself. Sometimes it triggers…" Geoffrey gestured towards Jonathan as he searched for the right word.</p><p> </p><p>"Defensive responses."</p><p> </p><p>"Something like that."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan glanced down at himself, could feel the strength it drew from him when he gave it a try. It was tiring to say the least and left him jittery all over. Unsteady on his feet almost. Like an adrenaline response he surmised. It felt similar to situations he experienced during the war.</p><p> </p><p>"The blood, did that come from me?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Geoffrey confirmed.</p><p> </p><p>"And it just….evaporated?"</p><p> </p><p>"Appears so."</p><p> </p><p>"Fascinating."</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey rolled his eyes at that.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. To Tame A Leech</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Vukasin Babic is an OC that belongs to my fiance Svart-Jade. You will be seeing a lot more of him in the future alongside Vincent and O'Connor.</p><p> </p><p>Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments so far! They motivate me to write more and update each day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I think...I may be sick." Jonathan stifled a gasp and shuddered as he swayed in place.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey shoved him back, causing him to stumble a few paces away as he cursed. "Bloody hell. Not on me ya aren't."</p><p> </p><p>With Vincent's assistance, Geoffrey and Jonathan had spent the last three hours in the courtyard trying to replicate what transpired when the young recruit attacked Jonathan two days prior. It wasn't working as well as they anticipated. For starters, Jonathan shadowstepped the first time the gun went off and he found himself sprawled across the ground when he tripped on O'Connor's garden boxes.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey fixed that problem by latching the chain that bound the ekon to a large tree that took up a corner of the space and leaned over the roof of the headquarters. Geoffrey helpfully explained that they often used the tree to torture leeches, tying them down with silver infused chains and orichalcum powder dusted over their bodies, then would leave them for the sun to rise and burn them alive. He explained that the sun, though an extremely painful and highly effective method of torture, was also nonfatal.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn't look the least bit pleased by this explanation and the very real fear of the threat that lay beneath the guard's words. The gleam in Geoffrey's eye told him it was both a scientific lesson and a warning for him to continue as he was and be a good cooperative leech.</p><p> </p><p>With the chains in place and Jonathan no longer able to flee, he became the center of target practice for Vincent. Geoffrey stood a few paces behind the sniper and watched with his arms crossed. His expression was stoic as per usual, eyes just as hard as stone and indifferent to Jonathan's frantic attempts to avoid getting shot. After a few bullet grazes and the very real fear that filled him to his core, he quickly gained a grasp on drawing out his shield to deflect Vincent's attacks.</p><p> </p><p>After half a dozen successful attempts, the good doctor was swaying on his feet and looked far paler than his typically dead visage. He slowly backed up towards the tree and collapsed with his back against the rough bark, pale eyes squeezed shut as he willed the nausea he was feeling to pass.</p><p> </p><p>"You're running low on blood." Geoffrey informed. "Well fed ekons are strong foes on the hunt. They can fight for a long time and hold their own against multiple opponents."</p><p> </p><p>It made sense in a way. Jonathan's been eating a handful of doves for the last few days and one very unfortunate chicken this morning. Vincent apparently didn't have any luck with bird catching the day before and resolved to turn to barnyard fowl. Jonathan wasn't as amused by the situation as Vincent was when he hauled the sack in.</p><p> </p><p>At the moment, even the chicken sounded appetizing now. He tucked his head between his knees and focused on breathing despite knowing well that it wouldn't do him any good like it did when he was human. The habit was comforting nonetheless while the hunters loomed over him with curious glances.</p><p> </p><p>"Guess this calls for a break." Geoffrey prompted, toeing the tip of his boot against Reid's side to urge him to his feet. Jonathan shimmied up to get his balance and steadied while he waited for Geoffrey to free the chain from the tree.</p><p> </p><p>He passed it off to Vincent who took it in his grasp and gave it a gentle tug. Jonathan trailed beside the sniper towards the side door that led back to his cell. Since the attempt on Jonathan's life the other day, another guard by the name of Vukasin had been stationed to watch over the ekon.</p><p> </p><p>The ekon had a sneaking suspicion that Vincent and Vukasin were distant cousins. The new guard had the same dark skin tone with sharp aqua eyes that were often set upon him with a murderous glare. A bow rested beside his seat while he fletched arrows with nimble fingers. Long dark hair hung down in his face from the tilted angle of his head. Short dark hairs grew in along a strong jawline, casting dark shadows along his face. He was much bigger than Vincent but nowhere near O'Connor's size and very quiet. The ekon didn't recall ever hearing him speak in the last few days since meeting him. </p><p> </p><p>When questioned on the topic, Vincent informed Reid that no, they weren't related. Vukasin was an immigrant fleeing the war like many others in Whitechapel. It didn't slip his perception that Vincent had a soft spot for the stern guard. He relaxed when speaking of him and Jonathan didn't miss the small twitch of his lips into a smile when he slipped up and called him Vuka in Reid's presence. The man looked at odds with himself for the mistake, cleared his throat and mumbled an excuse to leave with the promise that O'Connor will bring the ekon his meal shortly.</p><p>
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</p><p>"If I may inquire about a small request?" Jonathan called down the hall where Vukasin sat in his usual spot, quiet as a sentinel. The doctor waited for any sound of movement to tell him the man was listening.</p><p> </p><p>"Vhat?" The deep notes of a rich unfamiliar accent were a surprising response that pleased him. Counting the tiny victory to himself, he forged onward. </p><p> </p><p>"I was hoping you could perhaps find me a newspaper to read? I'm a- <em> I was </em>a doctor during the war and I wanted to see how it's faring. Please, sir." He pleaded, pressed against the bars of the cell as he waited for a response. All he obtained was a grunt in the end and no further activity from the man.</p><p> </p><p>He slumped back into his corner with a defeated dip in his shoulders and spent the next two hours waiting for the sun to rise and sleep to summon him back.</p><p>
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</p><p>Reid did not grin to himself in avid delight when he woke up to find three different newspaper issues lying on the floor of his cell from the last couple weeks. He spent the first few hours of his morning reading over the updates on how the war was reaching its end. On one hand, a victory for the people, but on the other, the epidemic seemed to hit its highest point in the process. There was a long list of hospitals and clinics seeking medical personnel that served in the war. From doctors to nurses to field medics and anyone else with even a fraction of experience to help fend against the outbreak.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt a pang of guilt twist up in his stomach as he realized his expertise was wasting away in here when he could very well be changing the tide of the epidemic out there. Or at least offering a hand in seeking a cure of some kind. There was so much more he could be doing to make a difference instead of feeling sorry for himself.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Vinny and the boys saved Sean Hampton from a skal attack." O'Connor's voice had become easier to pick up on, Jonathan noticed. They were in the interrogation room down the hall, preparing for something he could tell by the sound of equipment being moved around and Geoffrey's footsteps were short but driven. Back and forth as he reorganized things while O'Connor relayed the report. </p><p> </p><p>"A skal? How did the Sad Saint run afoul a skal?"</p><p> </p><p>"William Bishop had been turned. He abducted the Saint and kept him imprisoned down by the docks." O'Connor explained. "He was a bit deranged but not like the others that have been popping up all over London."</p><p> </p><p>"Where's the poor sod at now?" Geoffrey asked.</p><p> </p><p>"Vinny took him to Pembroke."</p><p> </p><p>"Good. He can be Swansea's problem then." Geoffrey shifted towards the doors as he called. “Babic. Bring the leech in.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn’t hear a response from the Priwen guard, but he recognized the movement of his strides when he opened the door. Vukasin wore the typical Priwen apparel of a gunner with a few small additions and  changes to work around his weapon of choice. His bow was slung over his back, the arm of the weapon protruding over his shoulder with the dark tipped fletchings he was often seen making while he sat at the entrance. His forearms down to his knuckles were wrapped in what at first glance looked like rags, Jonathan realized were special gloves that freed his hands for ease of manipulating his weapon.</p><p> </p><p>The dangerous edge to his movements made Jonathan uneasy as Vukasin approached the cell bars. Jonathan went through the motions of being restrained and muzzled, despite past displays of his distaste for human blood. Vukasin had a firm hold on the chain as he escorted Jonathan down the hall towards the interrogation room where Geoffrey and O’Connor waited.</p><p> </p><p>The chains were removed as his arms were strapped down to the chair. The muzzle remained which perplexed the doctor. His gaze shifted from Geoffrey to O’Connor then dropped towards the table where a series of tools were set out. It didn’t take Jonathan long to recognize the set up of tubes and syringes laid out in calculated order. Vukasin was dismissed with a nod from Geoffrey. The guard turned silently and disappeared out of view from the ekon, with the quiet click of the door punctuating his absence.</p><p> </p><p>“Geoffrey?” The words were apprehensive as they fell from Jonathan’s lips. He turned his head to inspect the hard stare the hunter leveled on him. That same look of indifference that shook Jonathan to his core. It was a cold uncaring gaze that separated him from the man beneath the monster.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey carried on with his task, picking up one of the syringes as he inspected it for a moment before selecting one of the unmarked vials on the table. “It’s been stated before by Usher Tall Tree of the Brotherhood of St. Paul Stole in numerous documents that garlic is not a useful weapon against the leech presence.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sir?” O’Connor looked perplexed at his leader but Geoffrey was undeterred by his inquiries as he carried on.</p><p> </p><p>“Cloves of garlic, garlic rubbings, crushed garlic and even cooked or raw garlic when worn or adorning select items does not dissuade a vampire threat. <em> Essence of garlic </em> on the other hand….” His voice trailed off as he made a point to slosh the substance around within the small off color vial.</p><p> </p><p>“It has an effect on the leeches. One that has been improperly documented and we’re here today to fix that issue.” Geoffrey took a moment to fill the syringe with the fluid and examined the clear substance within.</p><p> </p><p>“Wa-wait a moment. You can’t possibly be serious!” Jonathan’s protests were aptly ignored by both men as he squirmed in the restraints. O’Connor closed the space between them to roll the doctor’s sleeves up to his bicep and folded it over to stay tucked in place.</p><p> </p><p>With his forearm exposed, Geoffrey trailed a finger along the pale expanse of skin seeking out the dark lines of the ekon's veins underneath. Jonathan's panic only shot up more when the hunter found his mark.</p><p> </p><p>"No no no nonono." Jonathan fought against the restraint and twisted his arm around to at least disrupt Geoffrey's advances the best he could. "You can't seriously think injecting strange substances into a body is justifiable?" Jonathan blurted. "You have no idea what the repercussions are!"</p><p> </p><p>For the first time since Jonathan entered the room, Geoffrey spoke directly to him. A cold chill like ice water pooled down his spine. "Why do you think we're here now, leech?" He turned his attention back to the task, using one hand to force Jonathan's arm back into place as the ekon attempted to ward off the action.</p><p> </p><p>"Keep resisting and I'll just stab it into your neck. I'm doing you a service by starting with your arm, leech. Don't tempt me." Geoffrey growled out.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had little other choice in the matter. The tension unwound from his arm as he let the hunter take advantage of him. He squeezed his eyes shut in dreaded anticipation as the cold tip of the needle broke skin. He dared a peek at Geoffrey's hand as his thumb pressed down on the plunger, forcing the fluid into his veins. It flooded into his body like fire was racing under his skin. A burning heat that scorched his flesh from the inside out.</p><p> </p><p>The ekon bit back a scream, baring his fangs in a hiss through the muzzle as the pain evolved and spread. He writhed and twisted against the restraints as Geoffrey withdrew the empty syringe and deposited it back onto the table. He observed the experience with unblinking eyes, drinking in every whimper and gasp that broke in Jonathan's chest until the ekon went still in the chair.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey prepared a second syringe and found his next mark with just as much ease as the first. Jonathan shook his head in quiet refusal, a broken sound fumbled from his throat but his protests fell on deaf ears as they always did. He couldn't tell if the second round was worse or not. If knowing the outcome and the pain made it easier to handle or that much more bleak?</p><p> </p><p>Both men watched the doctor struggle, tremble and eventually convulse into a loss of consciousness by the third round. His screams silenced abruptly as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped in the seat. Any attempts to rouse the doctor back to life were fruitless, resulting in Babic and O'Connor releasing the ekon from the chair and dragging him back towards the cell.</p><p> </p><p>Over all, the whole experience was mildly disappointing in the end but Geoffrey didn't walk away without some answer as to what use it could possibly have in the future.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Great Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan was miserable. He didn't move from his huddled position in the corner of his cell. He kept his back turned despite his better judgement and tucked as close to the cool stone as he could. He didn't stir, not when Vincent brought him his meal or when Vukasin patrolled by to investigate the prolonged silence and he most definitely refused to budge when he heard Geoffrey approach. Even if it meant acting like a spiteful child and pretending to be dead or asleep. Though the former was less likely than the latter.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan would listen closely when Geoffrey would stop by, taking a seat in the singular chair by the wall. He would sit in silence for several minutes before greeting him with a passive. "Leech." When Jonathan wouldn't respond, he would wait several minutes just patiently watching for a sign. A twitch of a muscle, the subtle hint of breathing out of habit. A flex or stretch even. Anything that would give away that the ekon was listening.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually Geoffrey would continue talking, hoping to coax him out of his silence.</p><p> </p><p>"You didn't eat again today." Geoffrey observed. "You didn't eat yesterday either." <em> Or the day before that. </em> Jonathan hadn't moved from his spot in three days. Not since the torture the guard had subjected him to. Jonathan refused to acknowledge that this appeared to be nothing more than a childish temper tantrum or some fit of extended punishment directed at Geoffrey. As if he could guilt trip a vampire hunter for his unprovoked cruelty.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan may have misjudged things between him and Geoffrey and the trust he had thought they were building. That compliance led to reward and understanding. He may have just been fooling himself to cope with the hell his life has become. In the end, he was nothing more than a pet or a tool for the guard to play with as they please until the day he inevitably loses his usefulness.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan." The name was unfamiliar on the hunter's tongue. Twisted and <em> wrong. </em> It pained him inside, made things confused and muddled as he tried to decipher the conflicted feelings that compelled him to endure so much so far. It wasn't a thought he enjoyed entertaining but he had to come to terms with the reality of the situation. He was becoming attached to his captors through the tiny acts of kindness they permitted in a controlled environment. He was a prisoner in a war he wasn't even aware of and he had fallen low enough in the brief hours since his rebirth, to accept the men who hunted him down like a rabid dog in the streets.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan, look at me." Geoffrey commanded sharply. He was tempted, which only made Jonathan hate himself more for it. He wanted to comply, to look at Geoffrey and make up a million excuses as to why he did what he did. Why he acted the way he had. He wanted to understand and forgive and move on. To what? He honestly didn't know. To another day of him being locked in a cell, being fed doves and the random chicken here and there like a good little pet until the hunters decide to use him for some purpose or another? Is that all he has to look forward to now?</p><p> </p><p>That wasn't the kind of life he wanted to live. Not now. Not ever. </p><p> </p><p>Despite his reservations, he turned slowly to glance at the hunter, twisting just enough to see the edge of his form sitting in the chair. It was enough to satisfy Geoffrey's demand it seemed as the hunter continued.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you trying to prove here?"</p><p> </p><p>That wasn't a question Jonathan was expecting and he really didn't have an answer for it. He rolled back over to face the wall and hunched his shoulders to curl into a smaller ball. There was a disappointed click of the tongue as Geoffrey shoved himself to his feet in a burst of frustration. Jonathan stifled a flinch and ignored the scalding glare directed at his back for several minutes. Then, as if willed by Jonathan's own thoughts, he turned and left in a quiet stalk towards the doors and a muttered command he missed directed at Vukasin.</p><p>
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</p><p>In the following days Jonathan noticed a change in the air. As if some unseen tension was coiled tight and ready to snap. Vukasin checked in on him regularly with quiet peeks into the cell to ensure he was still chained to the wall right where he belonged. Vincent would bring him his meals but Jonathan still refused to partake, leaving the hunter perplexed. And Geoffrey?</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey had entered once since Jonathan's refusal, saturated in the smell of blood as he stood on the other side of the bars and watched him in silence. He never spoke a word. Didn't even take a seat like he normally did. He just lingered, watching and waiting as if in some vain hope that whatever game he was playing, would work and Jonathan would take the bait like some feral beast taunted with a fresh slab of raw bleeding meat.</p><p> </p><p>Sadly, it was tempting but Jonathan's resolve and absolute pettiness was enough to force him into denial. He breathed through his mouth and focused on reciting facts and formulas in his head. He reviewed his research and mentally went over one of the last seminars he hosted shortly before his military service. It took a considerable amount of resolve to hold his ground and retain his stubbornness until Geoffrey grew annoyed and stalked off once again.</p><p> </p><p>In the few hours that he was guaranteed silence due to the unobstructed routine of human habits, he was able to practice his abilities in peace. Primarily, making small blades of blood that fit in the center of his palm. It was a small victory after days of concentrating and intense focus to hone his control through the inevitable hunger that gnawed at his insides.</p><p> </p><p>Around nearly a week of refusing to feed, he collapsed in his cell from a dizzy spell. His hands clutched the bars tightly in their grasp to avoid falling and striking his head on the ground. He was not fortunate enough to avoid being seen. The door had opened as Vincent entered with a rather large writhing sack, widened green eyes fell upon him with a look of confusion before quickly putting it all together. </p><p> </p><p>Vincent didn't need to do much persuading today especially since Jonathan didn't have the energy to try and refuse him. The guard sat in the chair by the wall and watched as the ekon drained a dozen doves in quiet succession.</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you so determined to starve yourself?" The question came when Jonathan had finished the last bird and shoved the lifeless body back into the canvas sack.</p><p> </p><p>"It's a matter of choice I suppose." He finally answered after an extended moment of silence. "Everything else in my life was taken away yet I still have the power to <em> choose </em>this one little thing. I choose not to drink from a human. I choose when I will drink or when I will starve. It's all I have left. Until the day it too is taken from me, I will continue to invoke that choice."</p><p> </p><p>"You know, your kind can't starve to death right?" Vincent informed, garnering only a small nod in response from the ekon as he shoved the sack back in his direction.</p><p>
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</p><p>It was just after feeding the next day that Jonathan decided to make his move. He waited an hour until his window of undisturbed opportunity arose. He had a four hour span after feeding until Geoffrey came to visit just before dawn. The hunter didn't normally stick around long during his visits, often appearing tired and strung out as of lately. The faint traces of whiskey trailing him when he passed by the bars.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan focused his energy on forming a small spear of blood that he used to break through the chains, causing them to fall to the cold hard floor. The noise was louder than he expected, drawing Vukasin's attention towards the corridor. The footsteps approached quickly, giving Jonathan only seconds for his second trick.</p><p> </p><p>A swirl of shadows enveloped him as he dragged himself up against the ceiling, melting into the darkened space and matching with the dreary interior of the lower level. It was tiring to hold onto for very long but he managed it for the situation at hand. Vukasin peered around the corner as soon as Jonathan had successfully concealed himself, eyes frantically searching the cell for any sign of the ekon before spotting the fallen chains and the absence. He had his bow drawn and prepared to fire an arrow at the troublesome creature but upon discovering the disappearance, a curse in unfamiliar syllables rolled out. He lowered his weapon before sprinting towards the doorway in search of whatever commanding officer was nearby. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan dropped back down to the ground, landing at the door to the cell in a rush of displaced shadows. Judging by Vukasin's footsteps and the fading mutterings of McCullum's name through the walls, he estimated he had maybe three minutes to escape before all of Priwen descended down those steps.</p><p> </p><p>Using a second compact blood spear, he broke the lock off the door and slipped through the entrance, shadowstepping down the hallway in quick darting movements. He reached the courtyard and wobbled as a swell of dizziness rushed over him. He sucked in a deep breath and swiveled his gaze around until he spotted an opening in the gates.</p><p> </p><p>He double checked his surroundings with a flash of grey scale tones warping the world before him as he tracked the warm bodies that stayed back at Priwen from the patrols. He caught a glimpse of Vukasin one floor up racing down the hallway with O'Connor and two other recruits he didn't recognize quickly in tow. </p><p> </p><p>"It's now or never." He surmised as he darted across the courtyard in a burst of shadows and made the final leap over the front gates with the help of his ekon abilities. He stumbled on the other side, growing uneasy with the unusual exertion before booking it on foot the rest of the way. He didn't know where he intended to go but anywhere was better than here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been contemplating adding some side scenes perhaps in a Part 2 that shows the behind the scenes with Priwen and all the antics going on outside of Jonathan's perspective. </p><p>Just a comedic relief piece that shows that Priwen is not all bad and some of the consequences/reactions to Jonathan's actions and choices made. </p><p>Let me know what you all think on the idea and if it would be something you'd be interested in reading.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Resume or Resume'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was nervous to say the least. With his newfound freedom, Jonathan wasn't sure what to do with it. He had a rough idea but that didn't explain his immediate course of action. He was free now, but he had nowhere to go. Going home to see his mother would bring danger to their doorstep. Geoffrey knew where he lived. Besides, he couldn't stand to look her in the eyes knowing what he had done. The guilt and the knowledge of his actions was a crushing blow.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't have any friends that lived in the area, at least none that he was certain survived the war. He was a right proper mess anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan inspected his clothes and winced at how shabby and unkempt he appeared. He looked less like a respectable doctor and more like a street beggar. It couldn't rightfully be helped anyhow. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed as he quietly navigated the streets, wary of the presence of Priwen around every corner. They lurked in small groups, armed to the teeth in a way that reminded Jonathan of german patrols. At least they didn't have the dogs. A small notion of positivity in the bleak outlook of his plans.</p><p> </p><p>He maneuvered his way through the cluttered streets, past the guards and into the safety of the more populated areas of London. It would seem Priwen steered clear of those places which offered a safe haven for Jonathan. Though, his luck was turning for the better when he realized the more populated area he found himself in just so happened to be a hospital. It was hard to recognize when most of the building was in a state of construction and disrepair, but it was there.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Pembroke. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Well, the name sounded familiar but at the moment he couldn't recall. "Maybe they were in the newspaper article I read." Jonathan mumbled to himself, a sudden thrill of hope rising in his chest. Before gracelessly crashing to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>He had a hard enough time trying to find a job before the war and that was back when he owned a proper pair of clothes. At the moment he didn't even have a pair of shoes. What man in their right mind would hire him as he was now?</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders slumped in defeat as he examined the hospital from a distance, lingering along the edges of the canal. "I need a new plan and soon. Dawn is nearing." He could feel it in his bones.</p><p> </p><p>"Excuse me sir, but do you have business with the hospital?" Jonathan startled at the sound of a woman's voice. It had a faint romanian accent to it that threw him off guard. He twisted quickly to inspect the owner of the voice and found a nurse carefully making her way up the stone steps from the canal. Glancing past her, he could see a boat moored beyond a locked gate.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan quickly recovered from his shock and offered a small warm smile in greeting. "My apologies miss. I didn't notice you there." He straightened up and stepped aside so he was no longer obstructing the stairway.</p><p> </p><p>"Nurse Crane." She introduced, curtly.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid." He offered a hand in greeting but she only stared at it for a long minute as if it carried the pandemic with its touch. Jonathan retracted the offer and ignored just how uncomfortable this whole situation made him feel. On the inside, he was mortified.</p><p> </p><p>"I saw that the hospital was in need of personnel." He explained. "I was a surgeon during the war."</p><p> </p><p>"I see." She didn't look at all impressed. Jonathan shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny of her gaze as it gave him a quick once over. "You'll have to speak with Dr.Swansea. He's in his office. Second floor." </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you Miss Crane."</p><p> </p><p>The nurse didn't linger long as she hastily returned to her duties, busying herself with the patients in the tents outside as well as the ones lining the halls inside.</p><p> </p><p>It took Jonathan several minutes to steel himself enough to take a chance and hope for the best. He ignored the strange looks directed his way when he entered the hospital but he hoped with enough purpose in his stride and his chin up, that he'd give off an air of confidence that hopefully nobody would question. It worked, for the most part as he found himself standing before Dr.Swansea's door.</p><p> </p><p>Riding on that last shred of his determination and what remained of his dignity, he forced himself to knock and wait. </p><p> </p><p>"Come in." The doctor's voice was higher pitch than Jonathan was expecting, with a nasally quality. He sounded older which was expected of an administrator of such an institution.</p><p> </p><p>Opening the door, he found the office was quite spacious and more akin to what he anticipated. The scent of disinfectant and the neat and tidy placement of textbooks, vials and other tools of the trade had Reid at ease. It was familiar and worked out the tight clusters of tension that knitted themselves up in his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>"Pardon the intrusion, sir. I heard you were looking for experienced personnel." Jonathan began as he set eyes upon the considerably shorter doctor who had abruptly released the skull he was toying with to land askew upon his desk. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he blurted out the one thing Jonathan wasn't expecting to hear.</p><p> </p><p>"You're a vampire. I knew it!"</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was perplexed and incredibly off put by this whole ordeal but Dr.Swansea wasn't screaming for help nor did he throw a cross at his face so that was a good sign. At least he hoped. </p><p> </p><p>"Come in. Take a seat." He stood quickly over his desk and gestured at the offered chair. "I know exactly who you are, my good sir. Your Blood Transfusion techniques were an inspiration to my line of work." Swansea continued on as Jonathan obeyed the command. This was somehow more awkward than he expected.</p><p> </p><p>"A brilliant mind no doubt but to be a vampire as well? I had my suspicions all along but to see you here, now, <em> in my hospital. </em> My, Dr.Reid this is like a dream come true." Swansea continued to ramble and Jonathan didn't have much opportunity to interrupt.</p><p> </p><p>"Dr.Swansea-"</p><p> </p><p>"Please, call me Edgar." Swansea preened fondly. The glee that blossomed across his face was childlike and somewhat startling but Jonathan had to admire a man that had so much passion for his field of work. Especially during these rather trying and difficult times.</p><p> </p><p>"Edgar." Jonathan greeted, still reeling from the whole situation. He was delighted nonetheless in the knowledge that his reputation preceded him. A hope that followed that feeling that things will work out for the better. At least in a small turn of events. He really needed a change of pace since the endless weeks of hell he's had to endure.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan, I am aware of your condition and given the current state of affairs here at the Pembroke, your skills and expertise would be an invaluable asset to our staff." Swansea continued, his tone reigned in to a more business like perspective. It was something Jonathan could work with at least and tailor to his own needs.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course it would be the night shift, and you will be able to carry on with your research in complete privacy." Swansea explained, wagging a finger at him pointedly. "Of course, all of this is within reasonable parameters. This is a hospital after all."</p><p> </p><p>"I wouldn't dare harm a patient, Edgar. Despite my <em> condition </em>, I take the oath I made when I became a doctor quite seriously." Jonathan countered, a bit put off by the implication directed his way.</p><p> </p><p>"My apologies Jonathan, but I feel more at ease in knowing that these expectations are understood." Swansea was sympathetic in his words, folding his hands together in a thoughtful display before carrying on with a more upbeat subject. "Well then, dawn will be here shortly and you look like you've had quite a long night."</p><p> </p><p>"It has been...an adventure to say the least." Jonathan sighed, scrubbing a palm over his face as weariness made itself known. He let himself relax in the presence of a kindred spirit, finally able to relieve those walls he erected around himself since he left Priwen's outpost.</p><p> </p><p>"Allow me to show you your new office and I'll procure you a new set of clothes before tomorrow evening. When you're well rested, you can begin meeting the rest of the staff." Swansea's positivity was contagious but Jonathan was far too exhausted to join the swell of excitement that surged through the other man. He trailed after Edgar as the smaller man guided him down the hall towards the last vacant office on the floor. He rambled on about compiling his notes involving ekons for Jonathan's research should the need arise.</p><p> </p><p>The aforementioned ekon was far too tired to keep up with the rambling conversation. He hardly noticed when Swansea departed and left him to his own devices, the thought only gracing his weary mind as he crawled into bed and gave into the call of the first rays of dawn.</p><p>
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</p><p>The first day on the job was just as nerve wracking as Jonathan remembered it. Not so much as when he was an intern in his younger years, trying to navigate the complex politics and social structures of big city hospitals and the intricate layout of territory and staff. His current situation was geared more towards the new intricacies of his own condition and the conflicts of his sudden appearance on the rota without any forewarning. Given the circumstances of the situation and the dire straits of the hospital and their supplies at the moment, he was pleased to see that most of the staff overlooked his unannounced appearance and quickly accepted him into the throes of routine while he did his rounds.</p><p> </p><p>Greeting the patients had a more interesting reaction and was far more telling about the hospital and the men and women that kept it running. Of course, he felt far more at ease now after a proper wash and some fresh new clothes. Swansea was masterful in his deduction of obtaining an outfit that was far more befitting his person and made him feel more human than he had in weeks. Possibly even months if he dared say so himself.</p><p> </p><p>"Things are finally looking up." He chimed to himself as he gazed upon the rows of beds filled with the sick and dying. It wasn't the prettiest sight to behold, but it was a familiar one and that was all that mattered. He was a doctor first, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Patient</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a second fic I have linked to this one as a Part 2. </p><p>It is called The Priwen Chronicles and it is written from the perspective of Geoffrey and the rest of Priwen in reaction to Jonathan's activities. This will also be where fanart will be shared for the fics. </p><p>The first chapter is Priwen handling the fact their boss now has a pet leech. This Part 2 will also delve into the struggles that Priwen has faced before and during the epidemic and the trials and tribulations that come with leadership in McCullum's perspective. It's not easy being a leader but McCullum does it the best he can.</p><p> </p><p>Once again, I want to thank you all for the wonderful comments on the fic so far. It keeps me motivated to keep churning out content for the (now) Captiv(ation) Series. Thank you so much!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan may have spoken too soon. Priwen was a peculiar thorn in his side that even when taking all precautions available, still managed to weave their way into his daily routine and make an absolute mess of it all at once.</p><p> </p><p>For starters, he was accosted by a young female patient by the name of Thelma Howcroft who had an unnerving way of watching him closely as he tended to Mr.Elwood's injuries. She perched nearby on her bed and spoke of him as if he were some insignificant mortal. The wording she used hung on his thoughts for the first hour of his rounds until he found her once again on the entryway benches.</p><p> </p><p>"Mortal." She greeted him with a posture of superiority over him despite being half his size. She was pale and so fragile looking, long brown hair hanging wildly over her shoulders. Before her mental decline, he imagined she would have been a very lovely young woman. She was smart despite her ravings. Jonathan imagined that she could have had quite a life full of potential were it not for her affliction which, after a long conversation led him to believe it was actually Cotard's Syndrome. A belief that one is dead and withering even as they live and walk among the human populace, healthy and unaffected by the ravages of sickness.</p><p> </p><p>It amused him slightly that her inspiration for her current state was vampires of all things. The irony was not lost on him as to the twist of their situation. Despite the obvious, he found it was easier to humor her delusion. It made for interesting conversations to say the least. Especially when one of those conversations came two days after his start at Pembroke and Miss Howcroft informed him that she was being watched from a distance.</p><p> </p><p>"The men and women who work in this hospital are here to help you, Miss Howcroft. There is no reason to be frightened of their presence." Jonathan informed her kindly but she only scoffed in his direction. </p><p> </p><p>It was unladylike to roll her eyes and sneer but the act came natural as she sternly informed him of his misinformation. "Foolish mortal, it is not the doctors in white that concern me. It is the ones that hunt me. They watch, when I go out into the garden at night. I can feel their eyes upon me."</p><p> </p><p>"I see." His cautious tone betrayed the nervousness he felt under his own skin. The spark of paranoia that Priwen was already onto him and this poor soul had fallen into their sights in the process. "Well, I shall not let any harm come to you. You have my word."</p><p> </p><p>She laughed, a high peeling laughter of genuine amusement as she shook her head in dismissal. "You are courageous but will no doubt fall before these men. A mortal has no right getting involved in the affairs of a vampire."</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh, how right you are. </em> Jonathan mused. </p><p>
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</p><p>His worst fears were realized the day Nurse Crane woke him from his sleep just after the last ray of light fell from the skyline. She informed him of their dire need of antiseptics and the horrid state of affairs most medical facilities were in between the war and the prolonged epidemic.</p><p> </p><p>"I will handle it, Nurse Crane." He assured, with the key to the morgue in hand and the directions to the back door of the building. He was shocked when approaching the back entrance, to hear the scream of skals in the garden. As disturbing as it was to find them feasting on the corpse of a discarded body, he was well aware of the dangers these skals embodied when the patients wandered out here for fresh air and a meager stroll.</p><p> </p><p>It was easy dispatching them with a toss of his blood spear and the ensnaring bite of his claws rending through decaying flesh. The good doctor made it a habit of feasting on the rats that scurried about the streets in rampant hordes. It allowed him to sate his thirst and single-handedly control the rat population in one go. It wasn't as hygienic as doves or chickens, but he made due where he could.</p><p> </p><p>Even entertaining the idea of a bit of urban farming, utilizing the rat population to his own means. It was a skewed form of livestock but in a hypothetical context, it was entirely probable. Though, for now it was simply a note in the many pages of his research on the ekon condition and the many side effects of its existence.</p><p> </p><p>Satisfied that the garden was safe again and having discovered an abandoned wallet that belonged to their notoriously grumpy ambulance driver, Milton Hooks, Reid continued on. His to-do list was steadily growing it seems but he didn't mind it much at all.</p><p> </p><p>The back entrance that Dorothy described was a cluttered mess of half burnt and mostly broken debris that had been hauled out and set ablaze against the brick wall of an adjacent building. The ground bore older scorch marks in the dirt that hinted at a massive cleansing by the staff. Presumably after the first wave of the epidemic during the summer months.</p><p> </p><p>Tearing his gaze away from the destruction, his keen hearing honed in on the wails of skal inside the building. To his disgust, it appeared they were feasting on the dead bodies of unfortunate Priwen guards. Given the lit candles and supplies littered about the rooms, Jonathan deduced that Priwen had set an outpost up inside the Morgue, presumably without anyone else's knowledge and fell victim to the very same creatures they hunted. It was a cold complicated sort of irony that he gained no satisfaction in despite his own current predicament. The massive wounds that adorned the bodies led him to believe they died a horrendous death.</p><p> </p><p>There was a note left behind by one of the dead recruits, unfinished, bloodied and meant for McCullum detailing the presence of a female vampire inside the walls of the Hospital. Miss Howcroft's name and description was given but thankfully this appeared to only be a first report on the situation. Jonathan tucked the note away inside his pocket before he continued his hunt through the halls for the medical supplies he was in dire need of. He dispatched a handful of skals and a few unfortunate rats along the way until the entirety of the building and all three floors were cleared of any threats. With his bounty tucked away in a repurposed crate under his arm, he left the desolate place with a desperate desire for fresh air away from the corpses and blood that caked the grimy dilapidated interior.</p><p> </p><p>He returned Milton's wallet and made a promise to keep his secret relationship with Nurse Hawkins as it was. He pulled at his vampiric vision, searching the numerous bodies and heart beats for the very familiar figure of one Nurse Crane, eager to deliver the supplies and carry on with his night of the normal rounds and routine he dearly missed.</p><p> </p><p>He moved briskly through the halls of the hospital, ears and eyes peeled for any signs of distress in the patients as he passed by. </p><p> </p><p>"Ah, Dr.Reid." Nurse Crane exclaimed with a rush of relief over her face as he handed over the crate of supplies. He had synthesized a rough mixture that should hold them over for the night until he can get around to making larger batches. "You've performed your first miracle." She chimed pleasantly, actually daring a smile for the first time.</p><p> </p><p>"Later I'll show you how to make this yourself. The recipe is rather simple." He informed, kindly. A warm smile of his own rested on his lips, barely hidden behind the neatly trimmed scruff of his beard. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Nurse?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm afraid with Dr.Swansea out for the evening, I'm going to have to ask if you could tend to one of his patients." Nurse Crane informed quietly, gesturing to one of the private examination rooms off to the side. "I'm certain with your reputation, this will be no problem for you."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan nodded and turned his attention towards the closed door. On the front of the door was a basic medical chart, already hastily filled out with information. From the looks of it, this Vincent Bonner was a repeat visitor tended to by Dr.Swansea.</p><p> </p><p>Reid was still reading over the chart when he entered the room after a knock of warning, familiarizing himself with his new patient. </p><p> </p><p>"Good evening, Mr.Bonner. I'm Dr. Reid-" Jonathan stilled at the sound of a hammer being cocked back on a pistol, causing his gaze to snap up and fall upon the horrifyingly familiar form of Vincent. He was dressed down in a pair of plain trousers and a worn shirt, sleeves already rolled up to his elbow with a holster tucked on his hip. Vincent looked about as startled to see Jonathan as the ekon was to see him.</p><p> </p><p>"Well then, I won't say I'm surprised." Vincent blanched after a moment, examining the better dressed version of the ekon he helped keep imprisoned for weeks. "You look good."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan sat the clipboard aside on the nearby table as he inspected the comfortable relaxed posture of the younger man where he sat on the bed. He lowered his gun after a moment, the responding click of it being disarmed and returned to the holster put Jonathan at ease in return. He would rather there not be a shoot out in the hospital. These walls were incredibly thin and there were innocents in every direction.</p><p> </p><p>"I appreciate the attempt at small talk but I must know the honest truth behind your presence in this hospital. If you'd be so kind." Jonathan gestured at the hunter expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent shrugged and reached a hand up to draw the wild curls of dark hair out of his face. In the bright lights of the hospital, Jonathan could see the reddish tone under the surface of his skin. The dark splotches that warned of Vincent's condition. He needed to be bled, preferably soon. There was the slightest ring of blood crusting the entrance to his nasal cavity and a hint of a recently cleared away stain on his top lip. Jonathan didn’t need to be an ekon to know this man had recently suffered a nose bleed shortly before his arrival.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent held his hands up in a placating gesture of peace. "I'm not here for McCullum if that's what you're insinuating. Dr.Swansea is heading my case. He helps me manage my condition."</p><p> </p><p>A quick glance over the man and the tell tale calm of his heart spoke earnestly. Jonathan relaxed and carried on with the usual motions now that he was put at ease. Vincent didn't appear as nervous as Jonathan expected, especially when he dug into the cabinets that lined the wall to procure tubing and syringes. He directed Vincent to lie back on the bed while he prepared.</p><p> </p><p>He had removed his coat and hung it over the back of his chair as he pulled it up to the side of the bed. Vincent offered his arm and stared up at the ceiling, blatantly ignoring the syringe Jonathan had prepared. He didn't even flinch when the needle went in. The work was easy enough for Jonathan to fall into the human side of his habits and ignore the ekon hunger gnawing at his insides. No matter how many rats he consumed, fresh human blood was an ever present temptation in his life.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan inspected the tubing that attached to the end of the syringe. It led down to a bottle that was sealed on one side where a secondary port would typically be used for transfusion purposes. It would take no more than a pint in this session. Should Vincent need more removed, Jonathan could set up a second bottle and attach the tubing through the secondary port.</p><p> </p><p>"You're taking this well." Vincent commended, drawing a genuine laugh of amusement from the doctor.</p><p> </p><p>"I feel as though I should be the one saying that to you."</p><p> </p><p>"I've seen you at your worst, Dr.Reid. You didn't take to temptation then and I'm certain you won't now." Vincent's faith in the ekon was admirable and honestly, it astonished Jonathan.</p><p> </p><p>"You're not like the others." Reid noted. "You have more...tolerance? I believe that isn't quite the word I'm looking for but there is little bias in how you perceive me."</p><p> </p><p>"To tell you the truth, Doc? When I joined Priwen, I didn't believe your kind existed. I just got back from the war and there was nothing here for me anymore. I joined up just to find some purpose in the passing days. That's when I discovered the truth." He shrugged. "It didn't change much in how I view the world. Around every corner, there's a different war being fought every day. I just have the luxury to choose which ones I'll fall into and where I'll die in it all."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, that's a very macabre sort of view on life Vincent. The world isn't all bad. There is always an opportunity for good if you open your eyes and look hard enough." Jonathan admonished.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent chuckled and adjusted his arm to get more comfortable in the bed. He wiggled his fingers and mentally took note of the relief that washed over his body with the pressure bleeding out of him. "A pep talk on life from a leech doctor. I suppose I best not tell McCullum about this. He'll have me on sewer patrols for the next week. Or worse, doing dishes with O'Connor after supper."</p><p> </p><p>They both shared a laugh at that, allowing themselves to descend into idle conversation about the situation with the war and the current state of the epidemic. Jonathan was just cleaning up after bandaging Vincent's arm when the thought occurred to him. </p><p> </p><p>"Earlier tonight I went to the morgue looking for medical supplies. I found a few of your boys had been killed by a nest of skals." Jonathan informed gently, washing his hands in the sink and collecting the tools from the procedure to be sterilized for later.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll let McCullum know. I didn't know they were getting so close to the hospital." Vincent sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face in an exasperated motion. </p><p> </p><p>"I killed a few that had been lurking in the garden as well. They're rather bold in their hunt."</p><p> </p><p>Vincent nodded. "Yeah, they are. This newer breed is far more dangerous than a regular skal."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan hummed thoughtfully then added. "By the way, there is a young woman within the hospital by the name of Miss Howcroft."</p><p> </p><p>"The crazy one? Thinks she's a vampire but isn't?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, you know her?" Jonathan was perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent snorted. "I met her the first day I came to get checked out after fainting on a hunt. McCullum knows she's not a leech. The rookies seem hellbent on reporting her despite this fact."</p><p> </p><p>That was a relief. "I see. Well then, Mr.Bonner. I believe you're clear to leave for the evening."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank ya kindly, Doc." Vincent collected his jacket and gave a quick bob of his head in his direction. Jonathan watched as the guard left the hospital, his ekon sight guiding him through the grey scale shadows as he distinguished the steady heartbeat away from all the rest. Vincent was alone as he crossed the bridge towards Whitechapel, undeterred by the threats that lurked in the dark of night. Right up until he was at the very edge of Jonathan's sight when a second faint heartbeat met him on the other side of the bridge. The sudden flicker of excitement in the pulse eased his thoughts before he returned his attention back on his rounds.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Trifles of Teefers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan refused to acknowledge the truth as what it was. He greatly ignored the symptoms he was feeling, tried to deny himself the temptation that haunted him all night long as he tended to his patients and worked the usual rounds. It itched under his skin and ached in his jaws. It called to him, in a maddening sense that couldn't be denied. Eventually, in the quiet solace of his office, he succumbed to the call and gave into the horrifying truth he had to endure.</p><p> </p><p>He was experiencing a vampiric form of teething and he hated himself for it. He caught himself chewing on pens and even a piece of rubber tubing that was particularly satisfying when he dug his fangs into the softer material. It was an idle activity when he was mixing curatives or another batch of antiseptics for Nurse Crane. A piece of tubing ground between his teeth while he focused, soothing the ache that burned in his teeth and the repulsive primal need of what he assumed to be the product of being a newborn ekon.</p><p> </p><p>It was frustrating for a time but he managed it. Eventually the incessant itch in his gums faded and it grew into a secondary habit while he worked. A way to ease his troubled thoughts into some semblance of understanding while he synthesized a serum made of rat's blood and other nutrients that he discovered were beneficial for subduing his thirst in a pinch. Each night he made several batches of these vials and stored them neatly away for safekeeping. Typically tucking a few into the pockets of his coat when he leaves to partake in the usual rounds outside of the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan made it a habit to avoid going towards Whitechapel, primarily due to the fact Priwen patrolled more heavily in that vicinity but also for his own sanity. He wasn't prepared to descend into the madness quite yet and the phantom reminders of his flight from the main outpost didn't bode well for his mental state. </p><p> </p><p>He skirted the fractured cells of Priwen that popped up around the Hospital and in the lower areas around the docks. He had the misfortune of becoming acquainted with one Clay Cox and then his former beau in the shadows, Edwina who, much to Jonathan's disgust, was still running the gang in his absence. The good doctor would grin and bear it when he treated her fatigue and her new counterpart and flame, Booth Digby. The latter had contracted a cold from roaming the streets at unpleasant hours. The cold chill and the damp of the London fog made it easy to fall under the weather.</p><p> </p><p>The Turquoise Turtle was a lovely establishment and the last bastion of safety and warmth offering safe harbor for the wayward and weary that found their way on these dark docks. Jonathan himself had found a little nook in the establishment to ward away the chill of his hands and partake in pleasant conversation with Miss Cavendish and Tom Watts.</p><p> </p><p>Young Rufus would wander by on occasion, beckoned into the safety of the little pub. Tom didn't seem bothered by the youth's presence as Jonathan would give him a once over for whatever was ailing him and buy him a hot meal. It was the least he could do for the young man in these trying times. He would listen intently as Rufus informed him of Mrs. Fishburn's kindness and the few people willing to spare him a moment's time during the day's work on the docks. The boy particularly enjoyed the songs the dock hands would sometimes sing, well learned from the sailors that toted cargo in and out on busy ships. They moved like sluggish leviathans, drifting through the waves as they vanished into the fog once more.</p><p> </p><p>As he departed the Turtle for the evening, he managed to cross paths with a surprisingly well dressed stranger. A tall skinny man with a gusto to his words as he proclaimed the most startling information to the masses. Anyone willing to bend an ear and listen as they passed to and from the Turtle.</p><p> </p><p>The man was undeterred from his declarations even as drunkards and dockers ignored or cursed his presence.</p><p> </p><p>"The vampire menace must be thwarted! The city is no longer safe, good people. There is safety within your homes for the creatures cannot enter unless invited." He had a thin face with streaks of grey highlighting the neatly gelled back styling of his hair. He looked like a man out of his element standing among the grit and grime of the docks.</p><p> </p><p>"Good evening, sir." Jonathan greeted, examining the situation as yet another inhabitant navigated themselves around the excitable gentleman.</p><p> </p><p>"A wonderful evening sir. Ichabod Throgmorton at your service." He bowed politely with an offered smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Dr. Jonathan Reid.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, a man of science! A kindred spirit it seems. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Ichabod sighed, gesturing at the emptying street around them. “Are you aware of the vampire epidemic plaguing our fair city?”</p><p> </p><p>“Vampires?” Jonathan could hardly withhold the amusement that bled into his voice. He cleared his throat and mustered his most professional facade in his arsenal. “I would be interested in hearing more about these vampires you speak of.”</p><p> </p><p>“Foul demons that lurk in the shadows and drain the blood from unwary victims. They are the culprit behind the sudden influx of murders in the streets.” Ichabod shook his finger knowingly. His confidence was admirable, Jonathan had to admit and though somewhat fanatical, the man was correct in his assumption. But something about him told Jonathan this man was not cut from the same cloth as Priwen. Otherwise, he would have clued into the company he currently entertained.</p><p> </p><p>Ichabod was more than eager to regal him with stories about these ferocious beasts that hunted in the shadows and his own courageous exploits. The truth was tailored into exaggerated tales that branched off into little lies. That was something that the stutter of his heart beat gave away. The excited rise in his pulse and the nervous but barely concealed stumble in his words when Jonathan asked the harder questions. Specifically, those related to the Guard of Priwen. Jonathan doubted their ilk would welcome such a simpleton into their ranks. Ichabod didn’t appear to have the constitution required for their flavor of cruelty.</p><p> </p><p>Thinking back on his own torture, he couldn’t imagine this man standing at McCullum’s heel, following every command and directive. Ichabod wouldn’t stand a chance in those ranks. He didn’t have the stomach for it, which in the end wasn’t a bad thing. The world didn’t need more ruthless converts to a fold of wolves snapping at the heels of a vulnerable society. They needed honest, soft hearted men willing to defend their neighbors. It needed community and compassion in these trying and bleak times. </p><p> </p><p>“Is there any way I could aid in your endeavor Mr. Throgmorton?” Jonathan’s offer was sincere, something that brought doubt and suspicion to the other man’s features. His brows furrowed in confusion as he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“You mean it?” Jonathan nodded. “Well, this is wonderful. I do have a stack of posters that need to be put up around the docks.” He held a hand up in pause as he dug a folded piece out of his pocket to show Jonathan. He vaguely recalled seeing ripped and weather beaten ones in the odd alley or street corner, but hadn’t realized that was what they were about. In all honesty, he assumed they were old postings about the theatrical ventures of Doris Fletcher. </p><p> </p><p>“You want me to spread vampire propaganda around the neighborhood, sir?” Jonathan didn’t conceal the breathy laugh that left him this time. The idea was far too comical in his mind to truly turn down.</p><p> </p><p>“I understand what it may look like Dr. Reid, but the more of these posters that are spread, the more lives it will save. Knowledge is power, Dr.Reid. Knowledge that will save these vulnerable people from falling victim to the fangs of corruption.” He sighed, a tired and ragged sound that rushed from his chest. “I would do it myself but I must stay alert on my patrols. The enemy could be lurking around any darkened corner.”</p><p> </p><p><em> How right you are. </em> Jonathan shook his head and fell into agreement.</p><p> </p><p>Thus, how the good doctor found himself pasting posters around the quiet corners and deserted allies of the Docks and even several near the Hospital. Each warned the populace to stay indoors and avoid the menace that prowled the night.</p><p> </p><p>“Does this make me a double or a triple agent, I wonder?” Jonathan laughed as he put up yet another poster and headed on his way. The night was young and he had a lot to accomplish before the dawn.</p><p>
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</p><p>Unbeknownst to the leech, he was not alone in the dark of the cluttered streets. Amidst the debris and boarded up windows and doors that lined the narrow passes and allies, were two curious souls. </p><p> </p><p>A gloved hand tore down one of the dozens of posters that now pasted the walls in a gaudy display. The bald headed creature with glowing eyes and pointy teeth loomed over the silhouette of London’s city proper.</p><p> </p><p>“Vhat does the Leech think he’s doing?” Vukasin growled out, inspecting the paper in his hand. A sneer of disgust crinkled his features as the voice of Vincent prodded with a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Warning the public of his own menace?” The gunner retorted, admiring the stern set of his companion’s jaw as he shook the thought away in annoyance. Vincent plucked the poster from Vuka’s grasp and gave it a once over. “Aren’t these the posters that fraud was putting up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Icky-bald” Vukasin replied.</p><p> </p><p>“Ichabod.” Vincent corrected but let the amusement lift into his eyes as he smiled at his friend. His softened green meeting the shining aqua that caught the dying light of a nearby flickering street lamp. Vukasin was bigger than Vincent without a doubt, the archer was built with enough size that he could probably take on a sewer beast with his bare fists. A ferocity rivaled only by O’Connor who genuinely punched a Vulkod in the face to protect a cadet last summer. That was the fight that earned him the burn scar that marred his rugged face. Vincent had been privy to that scene as part of the reinforcements that rushed in to back them up.</p><p> </p><p>“Vhatever.” Vuka glanced towards Vincent as the gunner carefully folded the paper up and tucked it into his pocket. “McCullum?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I suspect he’ll want to know what his pet is up to.” Vincent shrugged and adjusted the strap of his bandolier. The dark fabric of his guard uniform helped him melt into the darkened corners of the city streets, a perfect urban camouflage for the former sniper. It did not, however, hide the blood stains very well that coated the front of his shirt, the damp dark spot smeared against his collarbone as Vuka stared at him with concern.</p><p> </p><p>“Leech bait.” He scolded as he dug out a handkerchief for Vincent to borrow until they could get back to headquarters and clean him up.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be fine.” Vincent waved off the concern but accepted the handkerchief nonetheless, tucking it against his nose where blood dripped down his lip. The fabric slowly saturated with the coppery scent. “What do you think he’s up to, Vuka?”</p><p> </p><p>“He is playing games.” The archer gestured towards the posters. “The public sees these and laugh. They think it is false. They do not know the truth like ve do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Flood the public with images of vampires, get them to let their guard down and the ‘menace’ is nothing more than a children’s story. Leeches can roam freely with the security that they’re nothing more than a story in the public minds.” Vincent chuckled and swatted Vuka gently on the shoulder. “That sounds like something out of a novel. Maybe you should take up writing one of these days.” Vincent’s jest was met with a roll of the eyes as Vuka started down the alley that led back towards Whitechapel, leaving Vincent to scramble to keep up.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. House Calls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happened by mistake, while Jonathan was trying to help a pair of fellow soldiers that ended up in quite the predicament. An argument outside the hospital led to Mr. Thatcher running off to the nearby sewers while a distraught and upset Mr.Blight fretted over the rats that crawled in and out of the filthy tunnel. A bout of Musophobia, he presumed. A fairly common fear derived from too much time in the trenches. </p><p> </p><p>The good doctor had seen them earlier while he did his early rounds within the institution, a blip of movement as two hearts beat side by side just beyond the gates.</p><p> </p><p>He noted the sudden rush as their pulses leap and thudded loudly for his ekon senses, drawing his attention out of fear that something was seriously wrong. He wasn’t too far off the mark on that fact as he found himself descending into the depths of the sewer.</p><p> </p><p>“This is disgusting.” He wrinkled his nose and pulled his lips back into a snarl. Even on a good day, he wouldn’t consider stooping so low as to come down here. It was host to unfathomable amounts of bacteria and disease. The decaying remains of trash and, to his horror, bodies along the way that didn’t bode well for the safety of Mr. Thatcher. A scream erupted into the narrow halls, pulling him from his inner grumbling. His gaze searched the halls, trying to peer through the sturdy brick that obstructed his view deeper in. His sense of hearing was sharper, picking up on the grotesque slurping and the crunch of bones between powerful jaws.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t surprised to find the culprit for a man’s unfortunate demise was the monstrous form of a great beast. As if someone crossed a man with a wolf and a lion all at once. It bared sharp bloodied teeth at him as it charged, pawing wildly at the air around him. The ekon had grown adept in his skills of evasion and dodged the attempts with calculated steps through shadows. The air turned cold around him as he dodged a set of claws that swiped too close to his face for comfort. He materialized behind the creature and swung the hacksaw he carried inside his coat down on its arm. </p><p> </p><p>The beast howled in pain as he ripped bone and sinew apart with a great force. It shattered as blood sprayed the ground, narrowly avoiding his clothes. He grimaced as he offered another swipe, landing the blow deep into the creature’s shoulder and cleaving the blade of his weapon into its neck. Sadly, he couldn’t avoid the spray back this time and cursed his absence of luck as his shirt was soiled with the blackened blood. No longer taking care for his outfit, the ekon relished in ripping the beast’s head the rest of the way from its body until it laid motionless on the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s one less threat to deal with now.” He sighed and shook the blood from the blade of his weapon. The smell of vampire blood was tempting but no more so than the rats were. He took a moment to draw a blood sample from the creature for his investigation, still holding onto the hope of developing a cure for whatever this existence was he was forced to live.</p><p> </p><p>With the sample secured and tucked into his pocket and his hacksaw put away, he started to examine the remains of the man the beast had been eating.</p><p> </p><p>“He was an immigrant.” Jonathan pointed out. “Died quickly at least.” He sighed, glad he wouldn’t be returning a corpse to Mr.Blight but he still had to track down Mr.Thatcher. Jonathan was about to depart when something caught his eye. It was blood stained and crumbled up but still legible.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?” He carefully unrolled the parchment and smoothed it out against his knee as he read over the message. It was scrawled in two different languages, one he didn’t recognize. “A voucher for a medical dispensary. An illegal one at that.” He was certain.</p><p> </p><p>He tucked the soiled paper into his coat pocket when he heard the frantic screams of a man having a panic. “There’s our missing soldier.” Jonathan hummed, making haste to reach the man. </p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, Mr.Thatcher was too distraught and distracted to notice Jonathan as he approached and quickly dispatched the skals that banged against the gate he had shut. It was a quick end that fell into silence as the soldier huddled in the corner and whimpered. His hands covered his face as he mumbled about the sky and the sunshine and his fear of dying.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr.Thatcher, can you hear me?” Jonathan called to him through the gate, coaxing the man from his frightened huddle.</p><p> </p><p>He watched closely as the man unfurled apprehensively and glanced towards the gates where the bodies lay crumpled on the ground. Jonathan supposed he looked horrifying with blood smearing his front and the grime of the sewers and the awful stench it entailed clinging to him. He offered a kind smile, disarming the man’s fears with an olive branch of safety.</p><p> </p><p>“Who- who are you?” His words trembled from his lips as he hesitantly stood up, bracing a hand against the grimy wall to steady himself.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Dr. Jonathan Reid from the Pembroke Hospital. Your friend Newton sent me to find you. You do remember Newton, don’t you?” Jonathan was cautious, gauging just how shaken up the man was. The shock would wear off and Jonathan didn’t smell any fresh blood on his body, no open wounds with a risk of infection in these disgusting tunnels.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, Newton is my mate. We served together.” Relief spread over Oswald’s features as he let out a shaky breath. Jonathan smiled and gestured for him to come out of the gated space. Oswald complied but remained quiet, still trembling as he stepped around the dead skals. He took care not to linger his gaze on them for long, opting to focus on leaving these accursed tunnels to see the fresh air. It was a particularly nice night after all and the cool air was invigorating for the mind.</p><p> </p><p>After seeing the frightened man off to his companion and witnessing their joyful reunion of equal parts relief and happiness, he carried on chasing the peculiar note he found on the dead man. But first, he had to stop by his office for a change of clean clothes. He very well couldn’t be walking around the city looking like such a mess. It was unbecoming and just plain unsanitary for his line of work.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan had one regret and that involved one small oversight in his calculations. The directions that led to the dispensary were hard to read with the blood splatter but they were legible enough to give him a rough idea where to go. The area that it was focused in shouldn’t have surprised him with the influx of immigrant tenants that migrated there. He had a very unpleasant relationship with Whitechapel and had actively avoided entering the area since the night he escaped the Priwen outpost.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was not a man to be enslaved by fear but his instinctive need for self-preservation was not damaged since the war. In a way, it had become stronger as he navigated the complicated maze that had become his every day routine. To return to a place that had inflicted so much misery on him was a hard pill to swallow but his curiosity was a beast all its own. As was his unerring sense of morality that grew concerned with the treatment and safety of those seeking help at this illegal facility. In a time such as this, there were many frauds lurking in the shadows offering miracle remedies that do more harm than good. As a man of science and a medical professional, he felt compelled to put an end to these problems.</p><p>
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</p><p>One small problem. To find the location of the dispensary wasn’t as easy as he anticipated. He spent the better part of the evening getting to know the locals, treating several for minor ailments and picking up the local gossip. He met the lady of the night, Miss Popa and heard the tired preaching of Mr. Whitaker. (Jonathan refused to address that man by his title because as far as he was concerned, Mr. Whitaker was a scoundrel in disguise.)</p><p> </p><p>He was surprised to discover that the rumors around the dispensary were linked to Nurse Crane. His concerns switched from fraudulent care-giving to the sort of scandal this would cause Pembroke should it be discovered. It was one thing to be offering free medical care to the public, it was another to operate under an unlicensed facility. Nurse Crane was a wonderful, driven and passionate medical professional that Jonathan had quickly learned to respect and admire over the last few weeks since he started working with her. He wouldn’t wish to see her come to harm in all this.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had found the man that guarded the dispensary against nosy troublemakers, one of which he deemed Jonathan to be despite his plea for Mr. Petrescu to understand. Feeling at wits end with the situation, and desperate to find answers quickly before the sun rises, Jonathan did something he wasn’t particularly proud of. He felt the power in his words as he made Mr. Petrescu meet his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>He watched the way his eyes clouded over and the tension unwind in his shoulders. The elder man had unraveled into a state of compliance as the doctor spoke his name with <em> meaning </em> and <em> purpose. </em></p><p> </p><p>It was a power he had discovered not long after he left Priwen. The ability to bend another person to his will by using the power of their name against them. Like a thread woven into their mind, he could pull at the strings, teasing at truths and revealing lies. The first time he used it was after becoming frustrated with a patient that danced around his questions and refused to be honest about how they ended up injured. He discovered it was a cover up for something far worse but only when he pressed against their mind and demanded entry to the truth. He dabbled with it again later on and found he could manipulate a human being, their thoughts, feelings and actions if he wished to. His experiment with the ability was just coaxing a fickle patient who was refusing to eat, to consume something even if it was something small like bread or a bit of broth.</p><p> </p><p>He felt guilty for doing it and acknowledged the shame it brought on him. Jonathan justified its use only when it benefited his patients. A small coaxing word here to take their medicine, a ply there to get the truth, a carefully worded sentence every now and then to get them to calm down and relax when going through an episode of distress.</p><p> </p><p>He was rewarded for his efforts as Mr. Petrescu permitted him entry into the dispensary, even giving him directions across the courtyard on how to find Dorothea.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan thanked him kindly and followed the direction. A knock at the door didn’t warrant an answer and Jonathan could smell the sickness on the other side. The familiar decay of dying patients with incurable diseases and illnesses, too far gone for any medicine to combat. When he entered, he was genuinely surprised by how well set up the dispensary was. </p><p> </p><p>“You are well funded Nurse Crane.” Jonathan commended as he quietly walked past the rows of beds filled with sleeping patients. Some had mild colds they were fending off, some had old injuries, wrapped in clean bandages and drained of infection. There were elderly too frail to live on their own, and dockers recovering from broken bones. There was a young woman fighting off the symptoms of pneumonia and the whiff of old blood in the air mingled with other bodily fluids. Her hand rested on her belly with grief stricken eyes staring distantly at the ceiling. The old tear stains streaked her cheeks still.</p><p> </p><p>His attention was snagged away from the lower level, drawing a concerned critical eye towards the upper floor where Nurse Crane’s voice attempted to console and calm a frantic patient. “Razvan-” She grunted as the man thrashed on the bed. Jonathan quickly made his way up the stairs and was greeted by the momentarily look of shock that flashed across Dorothy’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Reid, I could use a bit of help. He’s going into convulsions!”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was a man of action, let that be said. He was already removing his jacket in his approach, tossing it on an open counter space as he passed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he prepared to get to work. “What do we have here, Nurse?”</p><p> </p><p>“Patient Razvan Vasile. High fever running on three days, complaints of dizziness, muscle aches and head pain. Diagnosed with influenza.” Jonathan examined the man before him while Nurse Crane attempted to hold him still lest his struggles cause him to slip off the examination table. </p><p> </p><p>“Treatment?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aspirin and Salicin for the fever and discomfort. Liquids for dehydration but he’s having trouble keeping even water down.” Her words were strained, a telling sign that she was at her wits end trying to handle this case. Jonathan could sympathize with that.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Nurse. Anything else I should know?”</p><p> </p><p>“He did lose consciousness this morning but he’s never had convulsions like these.” She informed him quickly, eyes pleading for some form of aid in her plight. Jonathan listened to the man as he struggled, the subtle sounds through the coughing and the banging. His ekon senses honed sharp as he diagnosed the true problem.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not convulsing, he’s choking. He’s not getting any air.” Jonathan searched the room, eyes scanning every table and tool until he found what he was looking for. “Scalpel. Hand me that scalpel.” Dorothy was quick to act, as Jonathan accepted the tool and ripped open the front of Razvan’s gown to begin an incision into the trachea. </p><p> </p><p>“What can I do, doctor?” She asked, resuming her task of holding Razvan completely still to lessen the risks of Reid’s steady hands slipping with the instrument.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to perform a tracheostomy.” He informed as the man gurgled and struggled beneath his hands. Jonathan felt sympathetic to the pain his patient was in but they didn’t have time for anesthesia and it could worsen the respiratory distress he was experiencing. “Short pipe. That rubber tube will do.” He directed, glancing back at the table. Dorothy was precise and prepared, maintaining a sense of calm honed over years of experience.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna cut a passage for air through the neck.” He explained as she traded his scalpel for the tube.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan focused as he slid the tube into place, opening up the air way to work around the obstruction. He had spent the last few weeks disciplining his hunger and keeping it sated with the minuscule rations that rats offered. This was not his first encounter with blood in any capacity since he started working at Pembroke but he had been actively avoiding the surgical room just in case, for the times when instinct overwhelmed discipline and he felt the days when his resolve wavered and temptation was far too close for his comfort.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s breathing again but he’s coughing up blood.” Dorothy’s words rang in his ears. Jonathan frowned, brows furrowed as he examined Razvan with a critical eye. The maze work of veins and arteries that made up the exquisitely complex system that was the human body was now working against him. He could see where the bleed was located. </p><p> </p><p>“Internal hemorrhaging. I need to make another incision into the chest cavity to drain the fluids from the lungs.” His words were confident but under the surface, Jonathan wasn’t feeling so certain. This was far more blood than he was comfortable with given his current condition but a man’s life was on the line. “Prepare another tube.”</p><p> </p><p>“A thoracostomy? Doctor, we’ve nothing to fight the infection.” Dorothy withheld the scalpel from Jonathan as the doctor reached towards her. “We need an aseptic environment.” She stepped away from the table and stared at him in disbelief. Jonathan was a patient man but given their situation and the fact they lacked the luxury of such a requirement, they didn’t have any other choice. During the war, he’s performed so many operations with far less to work with. The fear of infection and other illnesses as a result were a secondary concern when life was far more necessary over limb.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t survive three years of war on the front lines putting soldiers back together just to have his directions second guessed now. “Don’t question me Nurse. I need a drain. Now!” He held his hand out expectantly and she complied, hesitant at first before handing it over.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>Several minutes passed as he cut open the cavity and spread the tissue, searching the mess of blood that pooled beneath his fingers. Dorothy placed the tube in but the bleeding hadn’t stopped. What was he missing? It had to be somewhere. Jonathan didn’t need Dorothy’s input to tell him that Razvan’s pulse was fading fast.</p><p> </p><p>“The drain must have punctured the intercostal artery.” His worst fears were realized when the scent became too much. Blood bubbled up around his fingers as Razvan struggled to breath, every heave of his chest and strain of his heart forced more into the cavity. The gnawing hunger that he kept tucked in the back of his mind roared forward like a great beast.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt the burn in his jaw and that dull ache that accompanied his fangs. His vision was a rush of red as Razvan’s heartbeat filled his ears. <em> No no no no! </em>Jonathan screamed inside as the world shifted to that bloody visage that haunted his nightmares. Mary’s voice echoed in his head, her pleas, so broken and desperate as the phantom of her fingers clung so weakly to his hand. She called his name, haunted him, trailed after his every impulse.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright, Doctor?” Jonathan was aware at how close Dorothy was to him, he could make out the fear in her eyes when he snarled, his fangs bared before her as the life of their patient flooded his nostrils with such an invitation. So warm on his fingers, the way it flowed smoothly against his skin. How it would taste going down his throat, how it would feel on his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>He shook the thoughts away, grinding his teeth through determination. <em> I am a doctor first. </em>He reminded himself and pushed through the haze.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t-...see.” His words were strained as he looked around the room, trying to focus on any point of shadow or silhouette that would steal back his senses.</p><p> </p><p>He had a job to do.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> First, do no harm. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had a task to complete. He had a life to <em> save. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I must first suture the artery.” Dorothy disappeared from his vision and returned with a needle and thread. She was uncertain as she passed them over to Jonathan but the doctor appreciated it. The feel of the needle against his skin plucked at his hours spent stitching bullet wounds closed. He grasped the memory tightly, though it was not a fond one to any extent, but it grounded him. His vision started to clear as the hunger faded away, smothered by his resolve to not be the monster McCullum claims him to be. He will prove him wrong. He will prove everyone wrong.</p><p> </p><p>“Find the wound. The source of the blood.” It was a mantra as he directed himself on the task. A singular line of thought. It was safer that way. He breathed through his mouth as he reined back his urges and started the familiar task with steady hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Good. The stitches are holding." He sighed with relief. "How’s he doing?” </p><p> </p><p>“We’re losing him. We’ve lost his pulse. He’s dying doctor!” Dorothy was frantic, her words ringing in his ears forced off the last shreds of his disoriented state.</p><p> </p><p>“A dose of Epinephrine. Now!” Jonathan commanded. Dorothy acted without hesitation, handing the syringe to him. Jonathan administered the drug, hoping it would stabilize his pulse. It seemed to work, if only for a few minutes. He could hear the change in its beat, a spark of hope filling his chest before it gave out. The patient had lost too much blood.</p><p> </p><p>They both realized it, shoulders sagged in defeat. Heads hung as they stepped away from the table. Razvan was still and silent. No matter how many times he went through it, it never got easy. The harder the fight to save a patient’s life, the more destructive the loss. It was hard, accepting the truth of the matter. No matter how skilled, how experienced or how smart a doctor you are, you just can’t save them all. It was always a bitter and unpleasant pill to swallow, both in the trenches and even now. Humans were fragile creatures and still far more complicated than science could explain.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s- He’s gone doctor.” Dorothy lamented.</p><p> </p><p>“Nurse, we did everything we could.” Jonathan consoled, his voice low and husky in the quiet of the room. In the corner of his eye, he could see Dorothy nod, a slow bob of the head as she carried on with cleaning up. It was all she could do. They lost for now, but they had to keep working, keep fighting to save the lives of so many others. They didn’t have the luxury to mourn every loss, reassess or re-evaluate the situation. To question what could have been done differently because the reality was, that sometimes there is nothing more that could have been done to change the outcome. It was inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I know. You are true to your reputation Dr. Reid. Dedicated and precise.” She met his gaze for the first time since he growled at her. There was no longer a hint of fear in her eyes, no apprehension in her movements. She consoled him with a sympathetic look. “No one could have done more.”</p><p> </p><p>“This was not an influenza induced seizure. I’ve never seen symptoms like these on the continent.” Jonathan interjected, desperate for some form of answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Neither have I.” Dorothy gestured at the body between them. “The previous symptoms leading up to the attack were the same, indistinguishable from the epidemic.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, there was something more vile in these reactions.” Jonathan corrected, stepping forward to examine the body now that he had regained his composure. “Something...<em> primitive </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“There have been numerous reports of mental breakdowns caused by the fever that accompanies the flu itself, doctor.” She explained further.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes but…” Jonathan retrieved a spare syringe from the table of tools and inspected it for a moment. Feeling satisfied, he proceeded to draw a blood sample from the patient. “I best take some samples of the blood for analysis. Maybe I could find a link between these cases.”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Rat Trap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the samples in hand, Jonathan joined Dorothy in cleaning up. He was solemn as he scrubbed the blood off his hands in the quiet. They talked, the sudden calm fell over them as Dorothy inquired about the reason behind his presence. She appeared genuinely shocked by his visit and had many questions which in turn, Jonathan shared his own inquiries. After addressing the more pressing matters involving the legality of the dispensary and the problems it could cause Pembroke should she be discovered, they came to a gentleman’s agreement of sorts. A business proposition.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was a man with a significant amount of funds backing his name safely tucked away before he left for the front. Given his current predicament and his need for certain ingredients and supplies necessary for his research, but unwilling to borrow those supplies from Pembroke’s meager stores, he was open to investing in her facility. A trade of course. She had to keep his secret and sell him supplies should the need arise.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan hadn’t anticipated the outcome when he left Pembroke earlier that night chasing a rumor on the wind and a bloodied note. It hadn’t all been in vain despite the troubles it caused him.With a promise, a handshake and a sigh, he was just collecting his coat and heading down the steps to the first floor when he heard a gunshot. He jolted from his thoughts and easily fell into old habits. </p><p> </p><p>“Stay here!” Jonathan barked back as Dorothy went still.</p><p> </p><p>Two more shots rang out as Jonathan descended the stairs to find Priwen Guards walking the rows of patients and shooting them in their beds indiscriminately. They screamed and begged for help, crying out before a bullet ripped through them, splattering blood across the floors and the walls.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan saw red for an entirely new reason. The gunman carrying the shotgun turned on the doctor with a hissed out. “Leech!” The word barely left the man’s lips before Jonathan put a bullet in his head. The revolver he procured from Milton on his first day at Pembroke had come in handy just as his service pistol had when the field hospital was under attack by Germans. It was a cold calculated calm as he moved with the awareness of a soldier hard fought and forged in war.</p><p> </p><p>Two guards inside, executed at the end of a well placed bullet. Three stood outside in the courtyard, unaware that the gunshots they heard were not from their comrades. It was tempting to dig his claws into their flesh and rip it apart. To let himself become the monster they cursed him to be. It was tempting, just as tempting as Razvan’s blood was but despite his flaws, he was a man of great resolve and even greater spite. He bared his fangs in a snarl but he ended these men with a bullet. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He wouldn’t allow them that victory over him. He did not suffer in a cell for so long just to watch all of his hard work fall at the hands of brutes with too much power lording over the fearful and the lost.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this what you’re fighting for, McCullum? How do you justify <em> this?” </em> Jonathan sneered. He wanted to hunt the Priwen Leader down just to ask him that very question. He was dying to know why this made him different from Jonathan? The blood on their hands was one in the same and no matter how hard he tries to justify and excuse the acts, murder was still murder. At least Jonathan didn’t try to disguise what he had done as some noble form of rebellion. He accepted the pain he caused, he acknowledged the fact he tore his family apart.</p><p>
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</p><p>The sun had risen and Jonathan had retired to his office for the night. The pull of sleep was unbending as he succumbed to its tides. He was still bitter about the events that transpired in Whitechapel. Even as he fell into the embrace of sleep, he could still hear the screams of the patients. He could still smell the blood in the air as it sprayed the walls. The jolt of panic that each gun shot struck in his chest as it tightened inside and that paranoid sense clawed at his mind as he was thrown back into phantom flashes of the war. The memories he wished to forget. The fear that was far too real eating away at his nerves. He tossed and turned in his bed and forced his thoughts to clear, begging for some semblance of peace.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan was in a foul mood since the events at the dispensary. He felt worn down and strung out in the days following as he threw himself into his research in an attempt to work off some steam and get his mind back on track. He kept his routine rounds to the hospital proper and offered a helping hand to his colleagues wherever it was deemed most appropriate. </p><p> </p><p>Swansea was in a tizzy of concern when he informed Jonathan of Nurse Crane's resignation from the hospital. The administrator was fretful and understandably so when such an important and promising member of their staff was now absent. He would have to rotate some of the day staff to start working night shifts and flesh out their numbers otherwise their work would fall behind and their patients would suffer for the losses.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he realized he couldn't stay cooped up for long. His thoughts drifted towards his other patients with growing concern. The weather had been particularly unpleasant as of late and he expected it only to get worse as they neared Christmas. He was surprised to wake up and find a light dusting of snow had covered the balcony overlooking the river. </p><p> </p><p>"Time has certainly eluded me." Jonathan scrubbed a hand against the side of his face as he gathered his coat and medical bag for the night. It had been a long time since he's seen a winter that did not end in misery. Too many long nights huddled in tents for warmth, tucked into the small corners and nooks of trenches with other soldiers while they warded off the bitter cold and freezing wind. Bodies crushed together into piles and clusters lest they face the threat of frostbite and hypothermia. Pneumonia was rampant in the ranks, trench foot and frostbite stole limbs. Infection took lives. Men fell asleep and never woke back up again when dawn's first light fell upon the battlefield. Foxholes became graves.</p><p> </p><p>Christmas was an afterthought. Oftentimes he avoided the idea just to focus himself with work. But it was hard, when Mary's letters came and she reminisced so many fond memories of their childhood together. Of decorations and bright lights. Of visiting the sweets shop at the Temple Garden Plaza and picking out warm festive breads and chocolates with their allowance. Of the days he was carted along with his family to visit friends, drinking and dining together at a full table.</p><p> </p><p>It was a bitter pain he felt in knowing he would never experience that sort of cheer in his life ever again. Looking back now, he took it all for granted. He complained and dragged his feet, opting to work or study instead of attending the fancy gatherings of high society. And now, it was so far beyond his reach. He couldn't even see his own family again.</p><p> </p><p>"I've wasted so much precious time." He mourned with a tremble in his words. Sadly, he had grown to hate this time of year. But who could blame him? He suspected most of London shared his feelings.</p><p> </p><p>With his bag in hand and a scarf pulled around his neck to give the impression of warding off the bitter night's chill, Jonathan dropped off the balcony to the cobblestones below. He cursed, a very vulgar and shameful sound that left his lips when his shoes slipped on the icy ground. He recovered quickly but made a mental note to avoid using his abilities too much this evening. The weather made everything far more dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>He made his usual rounds around Whitechapel. He stopped by Mr. Peterson's home to check in on young Harry and treat his cold. Miss Popa offered a few kind words in his passing after he prescribed something to ease her fatigue. He doubted she slept well these days with so many concerns weighing heavily upon her mind and the stress she put her body through just to support herself. He dropped by the dispensary to check on Nurse Crane and was relieved to know she had remained safe and the rest of the patients were tended to in the aftermath of the attack. He couldn't apologize enough for leaving like he did, but she remained cordial and understanding. Even thanking him for his intervention.</p><p> </p><p>After an exchange of supplies and a restock to his medical bag, he carried on with business as per usual. Miss Swansborough was still trying to peddle her false remedy as though it were actually helpful, while simultaneously cursing Mr.Bates. Jonathan wasn't one to partake in slander of another's image but he did internally agree with her thoughts on the man and how he conducts business. It was only by chance that Jonathan had found the landlord when he did and rescued him. Discovering afterwards what a despicable excuse for a human being he was sometimes made him regret ever going into that tenant building.</p><p> </p><p>Don't even get him started on Mr. Whitaker. Jonathan tuned him out the moment he stepped into Whitechapel and didn't even spare a glance in his direction. The constant preaching outside of St. Mary's Church was vulgar and obscene. He was a wicked man with a skewed and backwards view on modern medicine and humanity as a whole. The only comfort Jonathan found in the man was that his volatile behavior appeared to scare away any potential converts to his flock. Young Samuel aside.</p><p> </p><p>The snow had started to fall in fat white clumps, gathering on his shoulders and in his hair. He noticed with a cautious glance around the district, that many people had drifted towards warmer huddles for the evening. Even Miss Popa and Mr. Whitaker heeded the foul weather and gave into the knowledge that their <em> services </em> would be in vain with nobody walking the streets.</p><p> </p><p>The brunt of the chill was starting to get to Jonathan even, as his fingers grew stiff and his movements sluggish. The cold did not ease his endeavors despite the fact he couldn't necessarily feel it. The numbness to the world around him was concerning to the rational part of his mind. The medical professional in his head that screamed a litany of symptoms related to illness derived from freezing temperatures. But logically speaking, he was aware that hypothermia was no longer something he needed to fear.</p><p> </p><p>The streets had grown quiet in the last few nights. The frequency of skals screaming in the distance had faded into silence. This was partially due to Jonathan's intervention in certain areas and also due to the heavy Priwen presence stationed around high risk locations. It was both a blessing and a curse in all honesty. Jonathan didn't condone the activities of these fanatics but they were the only guard against the vampire epidemic that was overrunning the city. As much as he despised their actions, he had to admit they were, to an extent, doing something good.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was just approaching the gates leading from Whitechapel to Pembroke, just before the bridge when he caught a concerning scent. "Blood?"</p><p> </p><p>The gate squealed loudly in the quiet night air causing him to wince. The ground was covered in a thin blanket of snow and amidst it all was a fresh trail of blood. Trail may have been a slight understatement on his part. There was a massive puddle spread across the cobblestones, soaking into the snow in a scene that was reminiscent of the Penny Dreadfuls. There were smaller splatters that trailed down the street towards a short set of steps. Jonathan followed it, wary of any signs of a person in distress. His worries lingered on a potential skal attack.</p><p> </p><p>His horror and absolute amusement came to pique when the trail of <em> very human </em> blood ended with possibly the biggest rat he has ever seen in his entire life, staked to the ground. The rat could have easily been mistaken for a small dog, if he did say so himself. He was more fascinated in the dead animal than he was with the implications that this was a very absurd trap.</p><p> </p><p>"It's a Leech! Kill it!" Priwen Guards swarmed from the woodwork with a brawler charging directly at him. Jonathan took a step back and let the shadows wrap around his body, concealing him from view. As much fun as it would be and as tempting as it was to unwind and let off a little steam on the very men that made his life miserable, Jonathan had far more pressing matters to attend to.</p><p> </p><p>He carefully navigated his way through the frantic guards that spun around and searched the darkness for his silhouette. Torches were waved around with increasing panic as he tiptoed past the group. He was careful to avoid making new prints in the snow that the guards hadn't already stirred up as he maneuvered his way towards the bridge. He was just about to cross when a scent caught his attention. It was more prominent and fresh. The soft quiet chuckle that grew in the air helped guide his gaze to a balcony overlooking the scenery. He caught it only on a whim. A fair breeze guiding it towards him. </p><p> </p><p>Overhead was Vincent, perched with a rifle balanced against the wood and a fresh bandage wrapped around his arm. Even from a distance, Jonathan's sharp eyes could make out the dark red splotches that stained the material. For a brief moment, he swore their eyes met and the sniper was well aware of his presence. Vincent winked in his direction and Jonathan's jaw fell open in disbelief. The guard pointed at the ground before him and Jonathan noted the fresh tracks he had made while distracted. Of course, a man of his skill in the war would notice that. The men trained in Linghem's sniper school in France were to be well respected.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt his grip on the shadows starting to fade, urging him to continue across the bridge. He had just reached the other side when his foot hit a patch of ice and he fell to the cobblestones in a graceless heap on his back. His shadows dispersed, revealing his presence but thankfully just far enough from the Priwen patrol that he could afford to lie there for a moment and curse his existence.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A New Perspective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was no secret that Dr. Ackroyd had a dislike for Jonathan. The good doctor had accepted this since day one, and resolved to not let their differences in personal opinions affect their professional conduct and decision making. </p><p> </p><p>It sounded nice in theory, but in practice, human nature brewed bias even without the intention of doing so. Jonathan noticed the strained relationship and his fears came to light when it started to result in miscommunication involving a couple patients. Luckily they were minor, but Jonathan was afraid of what may happen in the future and the potential for lives being lost due to this problem.</p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Swansea has imposed your presence on this hospital without asking anyone’s advice.” Dr. Ackroyd had stated once when Jonathan confronted him about why he disliked him so much. “The benefit of his position. But I don’t agree with it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan couldn’t blame Dr. Ackroyd for the bitterness he felt towards that. His presence in Pembroke was unannounced and so sudden. Had he the ability to give some sort of forewarning, he would have. But alas, all he could do now was attempt to make amends. He was well aware that there were just as many people in his professional career that disagreed with his methods as there were those that idolized and admired them. It was the double edged sword to this type of work when science and innovation is required for the betterment of their patients.</p><p> </p><p>“There is no need for such animosity between us.” Jonathan pleaded. “Don’t you think the epidemic is already enough to deal with?”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ackroyd sniffed and considered Jonathan for a moment as he adjusted his patient chart back into hand from where it had been tucked under his arm. “That is one point we could agree on. And that is precisely why I wanted to be sure that you will be of help to this hospital instead of a burden.” The attitude directed at him signalled the end of their discussion as Dr. Ackroyd carried on from the store room where their private conversation had taken place, leaving Jonathan feeling out of sorts about the whole situation.</p><p> </p><p>He mulled it over for a few days, his companion's words stuck in his mind like burrs, the barbed edges catching and pulling at something that descended him into a foul mood. Jonathan didn’t mind that there were people that disliked him. He wasn’t there to please the entire populace. He was there to perform a duty to his patients. The road of respect went both ways and he wanted to make a difference in the world, still clinging to that childish ideal he had announced to his parents so many years ago. Back when the world felt so much more lively and everything was much more innocent. Back when he had a lot less blood on his hands.</p><p> </p><p>One thought in particular stuck out above all others.</p><p> </p><p>“For such an eminent surgeon, you’ve been here for two weeks and have yet to perform a single operation. You rarely grace us with your presence among the staff. What exactly is it you do, Dr. Reid?” The suspicious look in Dr. Ackroyd’s eyes had been set upon him like a wolf after a trapped rabbit. Unbeknownst to Dr. Ackroyd, Reid has fangs and sharp claws of his own to bare.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re so curious, you’re more than welcome to accompany me on my rounds outside of the hospital.” Jonathan offered, a courteous smile graced his face, barely a sliver of white teeth peeking out of his neatly trimmed beard. His fangs carefully tucked out of view.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ackroyd looked taken aback by the offer, blinking in surprise before his gaze fixed on the good doctor with an incredulous under note. “If you’re offering, then I suppose it couldn’t hurt to accept.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m correct in assuming your shift ends early tonight, yes?” Jonathan was aware that some of the night shift staff had been trading their schedules with the day shift, rotating hours and filling in for colleagues that have fallen under the weather during this epidemic.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right.” Dr. Ackroyd confirmed with a bob of his head. Like most of the staff, he was showing signs of exhaustion. The dark undereye circles of so many sleepless nights. The fatigue that weighed on their features, making it hard to offer even the smallest smile towards patients. They were drained, stumbling over themselves and each other most days, fumbling through routine. Nurse Hawkins had dropped an entire stack of patient files the other night and scattered them across the hallway. Milton had fallen asleep in the front seat of the ambulance while it was idling and Miss Howcroft caught Nurse Branagan when she tripped on the threshold in the entryway, causing both of them to crash against the door. Which needed to be repaired with Milton’s help afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>Nurse Gertrude Finch had started working the night shift in rotation with several other doctors and nurses, though she was more of a replacement for Nurse Crane’s recent absence. Speaking of, she was taking over after Dr. Ackroyd left for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan greeted her with a kind smile. Her long brunette hair was tied back into a hasty bun and pinned up out of the way, warm chocolate eyes greeted Jonathan with a polite nod as she was filled in at the nurse’s station by Nurse Hawkins. The two women paused long enough to idly gossip when they believed Jonathan was too far away to hear. The subtle hints of Nurse Finch’s Dutch origins slipped into her dialect. Jonathan was pleased to find out that they both served in France and were well versed in the language. It was a fond little game they played when the time allowed, letting him flex his tongue in the complicated but delicate syllables of the language. It was nice being able to use it for more than just trying to speak to frantic and dying soldiers or translate reports involving German troop movements near the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>He waited by the front gates for Dr. Ackroyd to join him, his fingers fumbling with his scarf until it sat just right on his shoulders. It was strange seeing his colleague out of his white coat and in something more civilian in appearance, and offered a breath of fresh air to the stalemate that weighed between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready?” Jonathan inquired, earning a tired nod from Dr. Ackroyd. Jonathan started heading towards the Docks, a route that Ackroyd noticed was somewhat peculiar as they tucked close to the river. He was about to comment on the choice of direction when they came across Mr. Thatcher and Mr. Blight who were leaned against the grimy brick walls.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stopped to converse with the men and discussed Mr. Blight’s Musophobia and how Mr. Thatcher was handling his claustrophobia and if they’d been following his recommendations to ease their insomnia. The men looked more at ease with Jonathan around, speaking freely and comfortably with the doctor, far more than they had when they came to Pembroke for the first time. Mr. Thatcher looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin and Mr. Blight was withdrawn and distant.</p><p> </p><p>As they were leaving the two former soldiers, Dr. Ackroyd noted the change. “Do you tend to them out here often?”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan nodded, situating his medical bag from one hand to the next as he tugged at his lapels to straighten them. “I discovered that many men who served in the war have obtained a fear of doctors and are apprehensive to seek out appropriate medical treatment due to malpractice and poor handling towards their conditions during the war. Others, like Mr. Thatcher, simply can’t stand being indoors. The feeling of entrapment, especially a loss of control that comes with being committed to a medical facility is terrifying.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” Dr. Ackroyd hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve learned that to be an effective healer, I must tailor my services to the needs of my patients.” Jonathan gestured as they walked under a bridge and started up a set of stairs towards the second bridge. Instead of crossing, they turned the opposite direction and headed towards a street lined with shops that had been vandalized and cluttered with debris. “Sometimes this means venturing away from the hospital to take care of them. It can be tedious, I’ll admit, but it's fulfilling work nonetheless. Especially for those that are too frail to make the trip themselves or who feel they’re more of a burden if they do seek attention for their needs. With the epidemic, the latter is frightfully more common than you’d expect.”</p><p> </p><p>They fell into silence as they carefully avoided a Priwen patrol, slipping past them in the shadows of a building and taking a detour through a narrow alley and along the river once more. </p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ackroyd didn’t seem too unnerved by the presence of the armed patrol, his calm facade hid the nervous beat of his heart well, but not enough to deceive the ekon. Jonathan guided them towards another set of steps where they crossed a bridge, completely avoiding the patrol entirely as they crossed into the territory of the docks.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you worried about those brutes?” Ackroyd broached the topic after a prolonged silence. His heart slowed to a calm and steady beat once they reached safe familiar ground. The Turquoise Turtle was just around the corner and the sole destination for Jonathan’s evening rounds.</p><p> </p><p>“Since my service, I don’t find myself afraid of men like that anymore. I guess it has desensitized me to the dangers or maybe it steeled my resolve as a doctor. I refuse to allow ruffians and thugs to stand between me and my patients and the threat of a bullet has never swayed my perception on that.” Jonathan chuckled. “I just got better at removing them.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m impressed, Dr. Reid. You’re either the most foolish man I’ve ever met, or the most stubborn.” Ackroyd commended.</p><p> </p><p>“Oftentimes those traits are one in the same.” Jonathan hummed as he headed towards the open entrance to the Turtle and the warmth it offered on this dreadfully cold night. The snow that littered the cobblestones earlier in the day had turned to a dangerous slush and he found at least a couple poor souls who had fallen to its deception. He treated a sprained ankle for one patron currently too drunk to feel the pain. And checked on Miss Cavendish who had caught her fingers between a couple of crates in the back storeroom. Tom fretted over the counter as he watched Jonathan tend to his secret beau and cherished employee.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Delaney had stopped to chat Jonathan up and thanked him for the kindness he showed a few nights earlier. Jonathan politely informed Ackroyd as they were leaving the establishment, that Mr. Delaney had asked him to place a few flowers on a memorial that marked the site of a horrible bombing in the early years of the war.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ackroyd followed Jonathan as he treated young Rufus for anemia and stopped in upon hearing that Mrs. Fishburn had been under the weather recently. A remedy for fatigue and a cold would be a quick fix with the recommendation of ample rest. Her son Seymour seemed to have caught the same cold, his hacking and coughing could be heard down by the river’s edge where he smoked a cigarette and gazed out at the dark waters churning up the snow his boots kicked off the pier.</p><p> </p><p>He was just finishing up when Ackroyd gazed at him with a pensive expression. Jonathan raised an inquiring brow as he prodded his colleague for an answer as to what troubled his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“You do this every single night?” Ackroyd finally gave in as they traced their steps back towards the Turtle.</p><p> </p><p>“I visit different boroughs each night but yes.” He confirmed. “These people needed someone to look out for them and since the authorities have abandoned these streets, I wanted to offer them some solace in these difficult times. It’s unfair that they’ve been subjected to living like this.” It was the truth. Jonathan may have been born with privilege given his father’s hard work. Aubrey Reid was a man that wanted the best for his family and he was a compassionate man that Jonathan admired, right up until he left. </p><p> </p><p>It was that compassion and that drive his father had shown him all his life that he wanted to do right by. He wanted to help people. He wanted to change the world for the better and he has and will continue to trudge through hell and back to do so. The world was full of enough cruelty, but if he could impart some shard of peace in his actions, he wanted to do everything he could to do just that. It’s the least he can offer for his own misdeeds. He recognized that he may never receive forgiveness and he doesn’t believe he is worthy of it but he will try his best until the day his dead heart stops beating.</p><p> </p><p>“I will admit, I was wrong about you, Dr. Reid.” Dr. Ackroyd conceded. “I hope you can accept my apology. You are a respectable man and an admirable doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Dr. Ackroyd. If you ever need a moment away from the hospital, you’re more than welcome to join me on my rounds should the situation permit. The fresh air is invigorating.” The two men chuckled, a calm understanding settled between them as they parted for the evening. Jonathan let the small smile spread on his strong features as he strolled away from the Turtle towards the East End. He had a few more patients to check in on before the sun rose.</p><p> </p><p>The good doctor was not blind nor deaf towards the scene that played out before him. Near the edge of the docks before he crossed the gates leading towards the East End where he often found Booth Digby and Edwina Cox scheming away in the dark corners, there was a small gathering of heartbeats. Booth stood with two other rough looking men with scowls plastered on their filthy faces. Edwina was nowhere in sight, but a quick scan of the surrounding area showed one familiar form tucked behind the building that housed Booth’s office. From the crouched silhouette he could make out that the aforementioned man was attempting to pick the lock on the door.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had been in this particular man’s presence enough times to recognize Vincent even from a distance. His gaze dragged back to the ridiculous scene playing out as he pieced together that the slim yet muscular figure crammed into a long petticoat and an olive green dress was none other than Vukasin. He had to admit, he did a good job of dressing the part. Jonathan estimated that he had to be wearing a few layers of clothing and possibly even a corset given the shape of his figure.</p><p> </p><p>The good doctor will admit in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he’s both seen and possibly even done worse when on leave in France. He will not acknowledge that fact nor share it with another, even in close confidence. What happens in Paris, stays in Paris and he will let that secret die with him.</p><p> </p><p>He was not blind to the fact that this was a hairbrained scheme of some sorts concocted to distract Booth and his Wet Boot Boys from the fact that Vincent was committing a crime a few paces away.</p><p> </p><p>“What shit is this?” Booth’s voice was embarrassingly loud, even without Jonathan’s heightened sense of hearing. He winced inwardly as the gangster turned his attention from Vukasin towards the good doctor. Jonathan caught the strong pungent odor of far too much perfume, sharp enough to gag him were he not already well acquainted with handling foul stenches of every perceivable origin. He drew a polite and gentle smile as his voice dropped to its smooth roll across the tongue, rich and enticing, plucking at the threads of his powers of influence should they be required.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening gentlemen.” He greeted Booth and his boys before turning a polite nod towards Vukasin. “Madame. What appears to be the problem here?”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan noted that the Serbian guard had shaved his beard and cleaned up nicely, giving the impression of a well built woman. He could pass as a farmer’s wife, if he was so inclined. It was an amusing thought and Jonathan was dying to know what the Wet Boot Boys had that would warrant this type of disguise to achieve.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, call me Visnja.” Vukasin blinked long lashes over startling aqua eyes that could entice the weakest soul into their depths, were he an ekon, he would be a deadly temptation to unwary victims.</p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Jonathan Reid. It’s a pleasure Miss Visnja.” Vukasin offered a hand which Jonathan gratefully accepted like a true gentleman. “Is there any way I could offer assistance?”</p><p> </p><p>“I am looking for my husband.” Miss Visnja informed gently, drawing her hand back as she cradled her palm to her cheek mournfully. “I fear he may have found trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>“If he’s wandering around here, then that’s a given.” Booth blurted with a sneer, glancing between the good doctor and the strange Serbian woman that was wandering about the docks at this late hour. “We ain’t seen any strangers around aside from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Digby, is that anyway to treat a young woman?” Jonathan chastised. “I presumed you of all people would have even an ounce of chivalry in you. It would appear I was wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>Booth scowled at the doctor before looking Miss Visnja up and down with a grimace. “I suggest you hurry up and be on your way. I’m letting you off with a warning cause the Wet Boot Boys owe you one Dr. Reid. Don’t mistake our leniency for weakness.” He added quickly before turning back towards the pier with his cohorts.</p><p> </p><p>A quick glance over his shoulder assured Jonathan that Vincent was already out of the office and disappeared in the night with whatever they had come for. Offering his arm to Visnja he continued. “Would you allow me to escort you to somewhere safer, Miss Visnja? This is no place for a lone young woman like yourself to be. Too many unsavory characters lurking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” She bobbed her head and accepted the arm as they strolled towards the Turtle in relative silence. As they neared the familiar bright lights of the establishment, they veered away from the pub and into a side street where they were safely tucked away from prying eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I impart no judgement on the choices a man makes with his free time but I do extend a warning of caution. Others may not take kindly to your confident sexuality.” Jonathan warned when Visnja withdrew from his touch and stepped away from the ekon with a grimace curling her lips. She adjusted the outfit in a show of mild discomfort, glaring down at a heel that didn’t quite fit properly. Jonathan doubted shoes like that were very comfortable, even for the actual women they were made for.</p><p> </p><p>“A man does not leave like this vithout a man at his back.” Vukasin gestured towards the curve of the alley just as Vincent came around the corner whistling casually. His rifle was slung over his shoulder while a larger bag hung off his arm. It was heavy and given the brief glimpse inside where the clasps had slipped open, he could make out the familiar shape of several weapons.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure your <em> husband </em> is very proud.” Jonathan hummed.</p><p> </p><p>“Those Wet Boot fuckers stole from a Priwen outpost.” Vincent informed when he caught Jonathan’s wandering gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin had begun stripping out of his clothes and accepted a sack Vincent kicked towards him from around the nook. Vukasin’s attention snapped up towards Jonathan before turning towards Vincent with a confused look. “Vhy does everyone think ve married?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because we act like an old married couple.” Vincent answered as he helped Vukasin remove the dress and wadded up the coat to tuck into the bag.</p><p> </p><p>“Just because you smell like old voman, doesn’t mean I do.” Vukasin cursed.</p><p> </p><p>“To be fair, with that perfume, I’d have to say you do.” Jonathan interjected. “You really should apply it modestly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Had to cover up the stench of blood otherwise he’d scare all the men off.” Vincent chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin barked. “Real men smell of blood and vodka. Those vere pansies.”</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin’s fingers fumbled with the corset, the cold air made them stiff and stumbled against the laces with a frustrated sound. Jonathan released a breathy chuckle. “Allow me.” Vukasin paused, narrowed his eyes on the doctor’s innocent offer before relenting and turning to ease his access. Nimble skilled fingers had the laces loosened in mere moments, letting the Serbian breath easy once again.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re good at that.” Vincent commended.</p><p> </p><p>“Practice, Mr. Bonner. I’ve tended to enough female patients where the requirement to quickly remove such garments is a necessity for saving lives.” Jonathan was reminded of the Summer months in the early years of his career where heat exhaustion and fatigue led to a lot of young women in his care and the frustration of corsets had become a tedious bane to his duties. He learned quickly with the aid of the nurses he worked with.</p><p> </p><p>Once the aforementioned garment was extracted, Jonathan got a more detailed look at the brutal scarring that ripped across Vukasin’s back from a hard fought war. Many of the injuries were poorly tended to and improperly healed, making the doctor wonder if it was surely by pure luck that this man had survived. The injuries alone looked severe and he estimated the infection rate would have been astonishing.</p><p> </p><p>“There.” Jonathan stepped back and added the corset to the pile of discarded clothing stacked upon the bag. Vukasin started pulling on a pair of plain trousers and a linen shirt before dragging on the dark material of his Guard jacket and the cowl that shielded his shoulders and face from the bitter cold of the night.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll leave you two for the evening. Send my regards to McCullum, will you? And do be careful walking these streets like that.” Jonathan warned. “You may give the wrong impression.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are very concerned about my virtue, doktore.” The sarcasm was heavy as the man resumed his task. Jonathan let out a breathy chuckle in acknowledgment. Vincent rolled his eyes and started stuffing the contents of the bag away while Vukasin traded his heels for the pair of boots which were far more stable on the slick cobblestone streets.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Good Samaritan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s alive!” Jonathan’s voice rang loudly in his office with excitement as he jolted off the edge of his bed to his feet. He had just woke up for yet another long night in this immortal existence to a very pleasant surprise. The plant that had been sitting in his office when he first arrived, which he had assumed was a lost cause when watering it a few times, didn't breathe life back into the poor thing. He had nearly given up hope, but in the last night or so, it had come back with a sudden flourish of greenery as large lush leaves shot up from the stalk.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alive. I can’t believe it.” He preened, prodding at the soil with admiration as he inspected the pot thoughtfully. He hadn’t been the most attentive when it came to greenery and he was more likely to buy flowers from the shops than attempt to grow them in any capacity. In a moment of sympathy, he was compelled to give the sad little plant a chance with a fragile hope that it would pull through. Maybe it was the fact he had just endured something horrific and he wanted to reflect on himself overcoming the obstacles with some vain ideal that this plant could do the same. He was immensely pleased to discover his optimism was rewarded.</p><p> </p><p>“You need a name. Hm…” He slid a finger over the smooth leaves of what he realized was a fern, and smiled to himself. “How about Lisa? I’m not very good at naming things but that feels right for you.” He chuckled, turning away with a newfound pep in his step as he carried on with his daily routine.</p><p> </p><p>He made a quick run through rounds within the hospital before he made his way across London towards the East End. Tonight’s trip was a request from Mr. Sean Hampton. A plea from a tired broken man begging for anyone to check in on his flock at the Night Asylum. Jonathan was not a religious man in any capacity but he couldn’t refuse such a request from the area’s very own Sad Saint.</p><p> </p><p>He of course had to make a small detour on his trip, given the situation of his attire. After several unsavory run-ins with a sewer beast, two furious ekons that put him through the ringer and one patient that was brought in with severe bleeding, he was quickly running out of spare clothes. He was down to one coat that was far too thin for this weather if he intended to keep up the appearance of a normal human being walking these quiet streets. His trousers were worn out and patched in places that bordered on being too shabby to be considered professional and he had one shirt left that wasn’t stained with old blood stains or wasn’t too tight around the collar and shoulders for comfort.</p><p> </p><p>He was apprehensive to return to his home and risk facing the heartbroken visage of his mother and let the guilt of his actions eat at him on the inside. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t slip into the West End and make a quick trip to the tailor shop. He had already sent an order ahead several days ago, secure in the knowledge that many of the shops remained open later in the evenings now, he made a quick detour to pick it up.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was cautious when he crossed into the West End by passing through the Docks. The ground was covered in a fresh layer of snow from earlier in the evening when the sun was still high in the sky. It made the streets dangerous and tricky to traverse, even with his ekon abilities. More than once, he’s fallen after a miscalculated shadowstep or a lunge in the wrong direction that had him flattened on the cold hard earth. If it weren’t for his regenerative abilities, he’d be beaten black and blue from his own clumsiness alone.</p><p> </p><p>The streets were eerily quiet since the quarantine between the districts. The gated fences erected around the city made it feel more like a prison community and each borough was a different cell block patrolled by a different breed of guard. He was thankful to have avoided any Priwen patrols on the way, the hope that they had taken to the nooks and crannies of the city to ward off the bitter cold of the weather. He doubted it though, as fanaticism was often far stronger than logic.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't make it very far into the cleaner streets of his neighborhood when a man of average height and slightly darker complexion approach him. He had a dark beard neatly trimmed half hidden behind a scarf and a hat pulled low against the cold wind, allowing a small space for his glasses to gaze out at the world with cautious scrutiny. Other than his bundled up appearance, he looked well dressed. A notepad was in hand when he approached, Jonathan noted it had a half written thought on a new page. He wondered if his presence had interrupted the man.</p><p> </p><p>"Sir, if I may ask what you are doing?" The man was very straightforward, presenting a stance of confidence and authority. Jonathan had to admit, it may have looked odd given he was a good foot taller than him at least. He was genuinely surprised by the question, taken off guard as he gave him a quick once over.</p><p> </p><p>"I beg your pardon?"</p><p> </p><p>"Detective Inspector Albright of Scotland Yard." The inspector introduced, before continuing, not even allowing a moment of pleasantries. "What are you doing? There is a quarantine order."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid from the Pembroke Hospital." He would offer a hand to shake but the inspector didn't appear too keen on the display as he gripped his notepad and narrowed his eyes on the doctor. "I'm just passing through to pick up a package from the shops. I'm currently investigating the source of the epidemic in the city."</p><p> </p><p>"At night?" The inspector balked.</p><p> </p><p>"What better time to find people in their homes?" Jonathan answered. "It makes my work easier, especially when tending to the sick."</p><p> </p><p>"Fair enough." Inspector Albright tapped his pen on his notepad thoughtfully.</p><p> </p><p>"May I ask what it is you're doing sir?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm the one asking the questions here." Albright snapped. Jonathan could see the sharpened suspicion in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"My apologies, Inspector. I thought that maybe while I'm conducting my own investigation in these parts, I could possibly be of some assistance." Jonathan gestured towards the street and the relative emptiness. He doubted whatever work the inspector was doing was bearing much fruit from his efforts. </p><p> </p><p>"Alright. Without giving you too much information, I'll tell you this." He appeared to consider this as well and relented. "I'm convinced there is a homicidal maniac on the loose using the epidemic to disguise his kills." He shared the fact Louise Teasdale went missing nearly a week ago now, and Mr. Tadao Kimura had been missing for a full day at least. Both cases, he believed to be related. No bodies were found as of yet but the inspector didn't have much hope for Ms. Teasdale's fate.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm surprised to see you investigating so late at night." Jonathan commented.</p><p> </p><p>"Criminals rarely act in daylight, you know." The inspector looked almost amused by the comment. As if it were an obvious answer. "But since you are also a night worker, have you noticed anything strange which requires police attention?"</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan paused before answering. He almost dismissed the inquiry but then a thought occurred to him. He pursued his lips together in a moment's contemplation before admitting. "I'd like to report a name, Inspector. Geoffrey McCullum."</p><p> </p><p>Inspector Albright looked intrigued, lifting his notepad to scribble down Jonathan's words. "I'm afraid he is some sort of<em> vigilante </em>trying to recruit an army of angry citizens."</p><p> </p><p>"I'll transmit this intelligence to the appropriate office to be investigated. Thank you sir." </p><p> </p><p>"If that is all, I must get going." Jonathan nodded towards the shops down the street.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course."</p><p> </p><p>"Goodbye Detective Inspector Albright."</p><p> </p><p>"Goodbye, Dr. Jonathan Reid. I'm sure we'll talk again soon." They parted as the inspector went back to scribbling in his notes and wandered towards a side street. Jonathan headed towards the shop, catching them just before they closed for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>The package was a bit larger than he expected but this was only a few of the items he requested. He would have to return in a couple days to get the majority of his order, including a new coat that was fitted to his specifications. Given his lack of other necessities, he didn’t feel guilty about spending the extra money. </p><p> </p><p>From the West End, he made his way towards the East End, cutting back through the docks on the way. He kept close to the pier and made a point to avoid any Priwen patrols by carefully chosen paths, sometimes taking to ledges, balconies in disrepair and little nooks to melt into the shadows and avoid the more well guarded areas. It would appear that most of their efforts were located along the shoreline and near the warehouses where skals and other vampire activities appeared far more populated. It was suitable enough for Jonathan, easing his way down the side streets until he reached the Night Asylum.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t his first time in the area. He was well aware of the Paxton sisters that worked tirelessly to keep the Asylum up and running in Sean’s absence. He had even seen Giselle Paxton skulking around the Turtle a few times, far too drunk to stay on her own two feet but still just as wily and angry as usual. Spitting curses that were far too foul for a young lady while she shed tears into her drink and lamented her losses. In some strange way, Jonathan still felt sympathetic for her situation. He didn’t take her crude words or barbed accusations to heart. She was a broken young woman too distracted by a bottle to see that what little she did still have, was balancing precariously on a tightrope under threat of fraying at a moment’s notice. Any attempts at persuading her otherwise would be fruitless.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had met her sister Lottie when she’d come to pick her sister up from the pub and take her back to the Asylum. After a brief conversation, Jonathan discovered they had been living there for quite some time since they lost their mother and soon after, their apartment. Lottie was hurting but she carried on for the sake of her sister even though there was animosity there for her actions. It was inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was surprised to find Mr. Throgmorton pacing about the small square outside of the Asylum, offering a kind word to the doctor in his passing. Jonathan stopped to have a chat with him regarding the luck of his hunts and the state of his health. A quick prescription for a cold was given and Jonathan parted with a kind smile.</p><p> </p><p>Martin Nightingale was holed up in one of the tenant rooms upstairs, a rational decision on his part for once instead of trying to sell his junk and baubles to the unwary passersby.</p><p> </p><p>It pained Jonathan everytime he visited Mrs. Gillingham. He couldn’t place whether it was the fact she referred to him as Dr. Tippets, despite his corrections and continuous introductions which after the third visit, he gave up on and just allowed her to continue her delusion. Or the fact she called to her dead son and carried on long winded conversations with the lad, oftentimes when Jonathan was in another room or just outside the door. Once in a great while, she would do it while he was sitting right beside her and was perplexed when Jonathan didn’t hear the conversation Jack had started with him. He would smile kindly to her, hiding the tortured expression that threatened to break on his features. He saturated his words with kindness, softened them to simpler questions and lighthearted conversations. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was the fact Mrs. Gillingham reminded him of his own mother. The pain that lanced through his chest after his father left and he would catch her sitting in the garden having conversations or tea with a man that wasn’t there anymore. He would overhear her, spy on her when he thought she wouldn’t notice and he would let his own anger and grief overcome him, dragging him down into a gloom that weighed upon his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>In a way, his studies in France allowed him a chance to escape that pain. It didn’t stop the worried thoughts that plagued his mind, those that wondered if his mother had begun playing that accursed game of talking to his absent specter. He would ponder if Mary would be forced to stand in his place, horrified at the state their mother was falling into as the years treated her so cruelly. As he treated her so cruelly in his own absence. Even now, she was alone and he was here, terrified to face her and witness the consequences of his actions, both before and after the war. How far the Prodigal Son had fallen. How cruel kindness can sometimes be.</p><p> </p><p>Today was no different as he sat down with Mrs. Gillingham. Her hands didn’t work as well as they used to, causing Jonathan to fret that the cup of tea she held would soon end up all over her dress. He was relieved when she set the saucer aside and fell into their usual routine of conversation. More often than not, Jonathan’s time was spent keeping a dying old woman company rather than treating any actual illness, and for that he didn’t feel so bad. Sometimes the only medicine he could offer his patients was a willing ear and a moment’s company. It did wonders for the spirit when the body was beyond help.</p><p> </p><p>His conversation with Mrs. Gillingham went on for nearly an hour. It was when her eyes began to droop and the fire crackled low in the hearth that Jonathan helped her shuffle to her bed and stoked the flames to keep burning just a little longer to warm her old bones. He was knelt in front of the fire when he heard it. The scratching at the side door in her dilapidated apartment. The sound of a tool trying to pry at the frame. Jonathan glanced out the window from where he was crouched and spotted the shadow of movement. </p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Burglars?’ </em> He used his ekon sight and could make out two. When he neared the door, he noticed they weren't just burglars, but Priwen guards. One recruit and an archer by the looks of their uniforms. He could make out the shape of the crossbow in the second man's hands. He kept a look out while the recruit attempted to pry the lock.</p><p> </p><p>Infuriated, Jonathan may have acted without thinking. He moved the large wooden beam leaned against the door out of the way and opened it. The grime that caked the threshold was a telltale sign that it hadn't been opened in quite some time. The hinges protested against the action and the whole frame shuddered in refusal but his strength made it no issue. </p><p> </p><p>“The hell?” The recruit blurted louder than he may have meant to, drawing the attention of the second guard. Jonathan silently cursed his decision but there was no turning back now.</p><p> </p><p>“Christ! It ain’t human!” The archer raised their weapon to fire when another voice barked into the quiet night air. The frozen wind roused in a sudden rush through the narrow space between the battered brickwork  separating the district from the rail yard and the old buildings that groaned like giant creatures in fitful sleep. It was even colder with it being so close to the waterfront, the stench of the shoreline was muted by the cold air. A rare reprieve to the senses.</p><p> </p><p>“Stand down!” The voice was familiar to Reid, a dialect of Serbian origin that was starting to grow on him the more he continued to encounter the same troublesome pair.</p><p> </p><p>His lips curled into the smallest of smiles, relieved that he wouldn’t have to make this a repeat of the dispensary. As much as he hated hurting people, especially humans, he was not one to shy away from doing the right thing. These men threatened the safety of an elderly patient of his and posed a potential threat to the entire neighborhood with their activities and Jonathan was going to put a stop to it.</p><p> </p><p>“Babic? You a leech lover too?” The recruit spat with his machete raised. The weapon was brandished towards Jonathan but the ekon felt not an ounce of fear from this man. His heart pounded in his chest like a scared mouse, not just because of the doctor’s presence but also with Vukasin and Vincent’s addition to whatever crime was in the process of being committed. Both of the troublemakers Jonathan felt fated to be ensnared with in this weird dance the universe had thrown at him, were calm and quiet in their approach. Only the crunch of snow beneath their boots punctuated their presence in the silent night.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent grappled the archer by the lapels of their jacket, holding him firmly in hand. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, green eyes weary from long shifts and cold nights. For once the red flush that blossomed on his olive skin was from the bitter sting of the wind and not his condition. The archer squirmed in discomfort as Vukasin lunged at the recruit with a sneer. One hand landed on the back of his neck, the other slammed the recruit’s hand against the wall. Pain burst in his knuckles as the skin split and he released his weapon to hit the ground at his feet. Vukasin had the recruit pinned between his body and the wind battered wall. Snow clung in lazy clumps to both their uniforms.</p><p> </p><p>“You bring shame to Priven.” Vukasin growled into the recruit’s ear.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a leech!” The recruit blurted back, twisting in Vukasin’s hold as Jonathan stood in the threshold, quietly observing the situation with a pensive expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Doktore?” Vukasin regarded. “They cause trouble?”</p><p> </p><p>“You could call it that. There is an elderly woman that lives here alone. She is not well in the mind or body. I was just checking in on her when I caught them trying to pry her door open.” Jonathan explained, adjusting the aforementioned door to block some of the cold wind from entering the home. He made a mental note to double check the fire before he left for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>“We do not harm humans.” Vincent repeated the Priwen mantra that was drilled into the men and spat out repeatedly by McCullum even when Jonathan found himself in the building’s basement. It was the first time he had spoken since they approached. The archer pulled away from the sniper’s grasp but Vincent was firm in his hold and gripped the man by the back of the neck, squeezing in warning when he attempted to push away. “And we don’t steal from them either.”</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin released his hold on the lad’s neck and dug out a knife from his belt. His grip on the young recruit’s hand remained firm as he slid the glove off his hand and let it fall to the slush and muck on the ground. “Vhich finger?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Jonathan could hear the tremble of fear in the recruit’s voice as Vukasin pressed the tip of his knife to the back of his hand. Jonathan was tempted to intervene but something about the absolute calm that settled over both men told him he should withhold his opinion and let it play out. If Vincent wasn’t acting then maybe he was aware of something Jonathan wasn’t. He hoped this was just a ploy.</p><p> </p><p>“You commit crime and sully Priven name. You pay vith finger. Pick.” Vukasin reprimanded.</p><p> </p><p>“No<em> fucking </em> shite! You can’t be serious?!” The recruit's voice cracked with panic as he squirmed beneath the Serbian but Vukasin pressed his knee against the young man’s back and buckled him against the building, strengthening his hold on his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine. Doktore?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?” Jonathan inquired.</p><p> </p><p>“Vhich finger he need least?”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t ask the lee-” Vukasin shook the recruit into silence. His aqua eyes settled on him expectantly for an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d have to say the pinkie. Less chance of compromising muscle structure and it’s the least used finger. He can still fire a gun and perform most daily tasks without it.” It was a clinical answer and by the dark smile that followed it from Vukasin, it was the right answer. He lined the knife up against the base knuckle of the recruit's pinkie.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy fuck!” The recruit struggled but Vukasin hissed in his ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Struggle, I take both. Your choice.”</p><p> </p><p>The archer spoke up in protest for his comrade. “You can’t do this!”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I can. Ve have doktore.” Vukasin nodded towards Jonathan. “He vill live, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nonfatal.” Jonathan assured with ease, his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“See. All is vell.” Vukasin cheered as he lined the blade back up against the knuckle and drew his hand back, prepared to cleave the digit apart.</p><p> </p><p>“Vukasin, we need him in one piece.” Vincent interrupted sternly just as the blade came down on the recruit. The tip of the weapon buried half an inch into the rotting wood exterior of the building as the recruit gave out a fearful sob. Jonathan didn’t need heightened ekon senses to know the young lad had pissed himself in terror as that blade barely nicked his skin. A cut equivalent to what he’d gain from a piece of rogue paper and nothing more.</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin looked back at Vincent with a scowl. “Vhy?”</p><p> </p><p>“McCullum will decide their punishment.” Vukasin frowned but the firm hand on the recruit released as he retrieved his weapon from the siding and returned it to the sheath on his belt. The recruit quickly gathered their belongings and stumbled away, very nearly tripping on the mismatched and cracked stones in the street. His head hung, hiding the shame on his face as Vincent shoved the archer forward with a firm. “Get moving.”</p><p> </p><p>Vukasin eyed Jonathan up and down with a pout. “I vas looking forvard to that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Were you really going to take his finger?” He had to ask. Jonathan felt a tight clench of regret in his stomach at the idea.</p><p> </p><p>“In Serbia, a crime in the military is punishable by loss of finger. Mutiny is met with execution. Disobedience is non negotiable.” He explained. “Vinnie vill not let me have my fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do share my appreciation for his involvement with him. I was not looking forward to cauterizing a wound.” Jonathan sighed, relief flooding his shoulders as Vukasin nodded and tipped his head in a solemn gesture before he turned to catch up with his comrade.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan quickly returned to the warm interior of Mrs. Gillingham’s home and busied himself by the fire while he tried to forget that he very nearly condoned such an activity. He still wasn’t certain if Vukasin was jesting with him and Vincent was playing the part of the Good Comrade looking out for their better interests while Vukasin played Devil’s Advocate. Either way, he hoped this incident would be the last for a very long time. He was looking forward to some peace and quiet in the days ahead.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chance Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>McCullum comes to visit Pembroke.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is after The Priwen Chronicles chapter 9 (which is the scene where the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard pays Priwen a visit after Jonathan reported McCullum.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It hurt, rending his immortal heart to shattered pieces like broken glass. He never thought he’d stand at the foot of his own sister’s grave and mourn her with so much guilt heavy in his heart. Even now, he couldn’t find peace from McCullum’s words and their bitter accusations as he paced back and forth outside of Jonathan’s cell. It was in times like these that those horrid words hit the hardest.</p><p> </p><p>“I shouldn’t have come here.” Jonathan murmured to the wicked wind that battered his shoulders and forced him to hunch them to ward against the cold bite as snow slipped under the collar of his coat. “I have no right to be here.”</p><p> </p><p>He doubted it was fortune or fate, or whatever otherworldly deity most men would claim to decide the events that befall them, but he felt that maybe it was a perfect coincidence that he walked that quiet cemetery that night. He found a lost kindred spirit barricaded into the crypts to avoid the feral screams and swiping claws of rogue skals. He dispatched them quickly as he allowed his foul mood to flood into his abilities. A well placed claw and a careful strike from the shadows as he managed to kill both creatures without ruining another coat.</p><p> </p><p>The conversation was short, but he managed to console a grieving widow and found some solace in their shared pain. After ensuring that Mrs. Hsiao Shun was no longer in any form of danger, he took his time returning to the hospital.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan was tempted to return to his office and forego his promised visit with Swansea, but some part at the back of his mind itched at him to go see the man and get it over with. The quicker he did, the sooner he could shut himself away inside his office and (not) sulk. He hung his coat and scarf up on the rack and donned the white coat of his position as he made his way down the halls. He was in the middle of adjusting the collar of his coat when the muffled voices arguing within Swansea’s office reached his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Jonathan hissed under his breath as his vision slipped into the greyscale world of his ekon sight. He grimaced when he recognized the steady heartbeat of the man on the other side of the door. That voice that haunted him each night. That fueled that paranoid fear that itched under his skin and made him peer around corners with a wariness that was embarrassing. He wasn’t afraid of what McCullum could do to him, specifically. It was what the hunter <em> reminded </em>him of. Of the monster he was and the beast that took the life of his own sister. McCullum was the ever-present judge lording over his afterlife, gavel in hand ready to bring it down upon Jonathan without mercy.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan shook his head, forced those fears and apprehension to unravel. He couldn’t continue living like this. If McCullum was the devil beneath his bed at night, he needed to stand up and face him. No more hiding. It was inevitable that his presence would be noted, despite the promises that Vincent kept. He wasn’t the only member of Priwen that had crossed the good doctor’s path and he wouldn’t be surprised if McCullum was already aware of his existence within these walls.</p><p> </p><p>He straightened up and stepped towards the door, opening it without forewarning as he entered. Whatever argument the two men were having fell into total silence as they regarded the intruder. Dr. Swansea looked relieved to see Jonathan but McCullum shared an opposing view. He grimaced with a sudden look of disgust as he hissed. </p><p> </p><p>“God protect us, you’ve got a leech in the hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Swansea interjected. “<em> My </em>hospital! My mission is to heal. While you go about warring.” The doctor gestured towards McCullum with a half aborted motion, his attention focused mostly on the skull in his grasp, an almost bored expression on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You set the table for a snake, and wonder why there’s venom in your food.” Jonathan was mildly hurt by the implication, a frown knitted his features when the hunter pointed accusingly at him.</p><p> </p><p><em> Rude. </em>Jonathan thought to himself but didn’t dare interrupt when Swansea started in on the hunter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m growing tired of your song. You’re a woodsman, McCullum, not a doctor. Return to your hunt.”  Swansea looked up from his skull as he regarded the hunter with seething disapproval.</p><p> </p><p>McCullum paced in front of Swansea’s desk, that feline grace, the fluid motions of a predator that would look more at home in an ekon looked terrifyingly natural on the hunter as he strutted towards Jonathan. “Remember, I’ve a good nose for machinations. I can flair the scent at a mile.” He called to Swansea as he stepped towards the ekon.</p><p> </p><p>His voice dropped low as steely blue eyes met Reid’s, capturing his attention. “You can’t hide from the Guard.”</p><p> </p><p>Swansea looked genuinely concerned now, drawing his attention from his skull as he stared the two men down. The nervous racing of his pulse was unmistakable and Jonathan swore McCullum could hear it as well. “Leave him Jonathan.” No response, the desperation grew in the administrator’s voice. “This is sacred ground. Neutral territory….”</p><p> </p><p>His words hung in the air between them. Only then did McCullum break eye contact and glance over his shoulder back at the doctor. He scowled, before returning that fiery look upon Jonathan.  Swansea heaved an exasperated sigh. “And I just had the carpets cleaned.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn’t miss the tiny hint of a smile that curled at the corner of McCullum’s lips. The subtle twitch of his fingers towards his hip where the ekon knew well that he kept his weapon of choice. At this close distance, Jonathan wasn’t sure if he could get out of the way fast enough. The entryway and hall were far too cluttered. Geoffrey really wouldn’t break what sounded like a treaty between him and Swansea just to get back at him, would he? It would endanger so many lives, not just Jonathan’s.</p><p> </p><p>The hunter abandoned the gesture. It was merely a threat. A silent promise for Jonathan to remain in line. The doctor stifled the shudder of a reminder. ‘<em> Keep being a good leech and I won’t have to hurt you.’ </em> Those words filled his head when he was trapped in that cell. As far as he was concerned, he was a “good” leech and he still ended up hurt for his efforts. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stepped away, a quiet submission on his part as he allowed the hunter to pass. He listened, trailing the steady footsteps as Geoffrey headed for the staircase and descended. Jonathan moved further into the room and let the door click shut behind him. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever composure Swansea had been clinging to earlier had crumbled with an exasperated sigh. He set his skull upon his desk and hid his face nervously behind his palms. “By the sacred Stole. This is very bad news. Bad news indeed.”</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“The hospital has been attacked.” He gestured towards the door in a sharp wave of his hand as Jonathan moved closer to Swansea’s desk. He stood behind the chair that sat opposite the doctor but didn’t make a move to seat himself. He had the feeling he’s going to want to stay standing for this discussion. “We have injured patients, at least one dead and several missing. This has spiralled out of control! Even the most infirm are asking to be allowed to return home.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt a sudden surge of distress at that. If people were leaving, the hospital wouldn’t be able to contain the epidemic. Sick patients who would have had a fighting chance would start dying off in their homes, further spreading the problem. “We cannot have the people lose faith in this institution. This hospital is their only hope.” Never before had this problem presented itself in all the years that Jonathan had served as a doctor. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” Swansea sighed, his voice dropped low as he lamented. “You’re right, but we cannot afford to have a public scandal! It would ruin us! We have to restore order, and quickly.”</p><p> </p><p>“You mentioned a dead patient? Who is he?” Jonathan smoothed his palms over the leather backing of the chair and squeezed the material under his fingers. The subtle give was ample enough to ease his growing anxiety as he fiddled absentmindedly with the piece. He was mindful not to let his claws rip it apart though the urge was there. That predatory desire that spurred his thoughts after a moment of feeling trapped. A sense that only reared its ugly head when McCullum was near. He wondered if wariness was a survival instinct where the hunter was concerned.</p><p> </p><p>“She, Jonathan.” Swansea corrected. “She was Miss Harriet Jones.” His words were solemn, mournful of the loss. From what Jonathan recalled of the woman, she had a very bad reputation among the staff and from the briefest encounter he had with her, he was aware that her vulgarity was not exaggerated. Despite her <em> unsavory </em>personality trait, he still treated her with the same respect and care deserving of every patient that entered this facility. She didn’t seem too impressed, convinced he had ulterior motives for his kindness towards her.</p><p> </p><p>“I found her room like a slaughterhouse. Blood everywhere! The duty nurse is taking care of the mess.” Swansea leaned back in his chair, the frame protested the change in position as the doctor sighed once more. Long and distressed as he considered a way to salvage this atrocity.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there any way I can help?” Jonathan straightened up, tucking his hands to his sides now, prepared to jump at the opportunity. His own misfortunes and gloom cast off in favor of focusing on a new task. A distraction for his mind, tearing him away from the pain that he too often wallowed in.</p><p> </p><p>“I know this place means something to you. I noticed how you suppress your <em> appetite </em>when around the staff and patients.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know you can trust me, Edgar.” Jonathan implored.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, dear fellow, I do.” Swansea assured.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, then tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>Swansea exhaled deeply. “Sean Hampton, the man we thought had been saved at the docks. It seems he was infected after all. He didn’t show any signs before when Priwen brought him here.” Jonathan recalled that information. The conversation O’Connor and McCullum were having shortly before he was tortured. If he remembered correctly, Vincent had been the one to bring him to Pembroke.</p><p> </p><p>“So Hampton became more beast than man?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly.” Swansea adjusted his posture to grab the skull, rolling it around in his hands, a nervous gesture now instead of the display of indifference he had posed for when McCullum was present. They continued their conversation about Sean and Harriet, the fact McCullum had suspected Swansea of doing something malicious and was trying to cover his tracks with this whole ordeal. It wasn’t a secret that McCullum despised the man. He didn’t hold a high opinion of the Brotherhood from what Jonathan came to understand but he had a certain isolated hatred for Swansea in particular. </p><p> </p><p>“McCullum is a fanatic! The Guard of Priwen will stop at nothing once they’ve set their eyes upon a target; you don’t know what they’re capable of, Jonathan.” Swansea warned.</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Oh, you have no idea.’ </em> Jonathan’s thoughts tread over Swansea’s warnings as he left his office. As far as the Administrator was concerned, Jonathan was an innocent casualty caught up in all this chaos. Just a bystander that got dragged into Priwen’s problems. Jonathan didn’t divulge the hell he had been through the last month or so. Only the sullen admittance that he lost his sister upon his rebirth. Swansea assumed that Jonathan had been grieving in silence since until the day he found his way through these plague ridden streets and landed on the steps of Pembroke. As if fate had cast a die and Jonathan had tumbled in the direction of destiny.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After the encounter in the office, Jonathan skimmed a critical eye over Harriet’s room, inspected the bloody mess in full detail and talked with the staff to see if there were any witnesses to the event. He wasn’t sure what kind of trail he was expecting to find, but it quickly vanished not long after leaving the hospital gates. Any attempt at picking it back up was fruitless with the busy back and forth of patients and staff, the wheel tracks of vehicles rolling over what little potential evidence there may have been. </p><p> </p><p>From what he knew about Sean Hampton, the man spoke often about his flock as his concern for their safety in his absence grew. “That may be my only clue.” Jonathan sighed, running his cold fingers through his hair as he walked the streets. It was too late in the night to go searching for him and the trip to the Night Shelter could lead to other problems. With the sun nearing, he resolved to let it rest for the night. He would pick up his trail early the next night. He didn’t dare risk being caught away from the hospital, especially tonight of all nights.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t far from the hospital when he turned around and slipped on the cobblestones. The icy patch on the street very nearly took him down but he managed to correct himself with a blush of embarrassment bleeding into his cheeks. He was beginning to loathe the weather more so than usual and contemplated exchanging his shoes for a sturdy pair of boots. It wasn’t exactly commonplace around the hospital but with the horrid weather and the terrible treads on his own  shoes, it would benefit his nightly activities in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>He dusted the snow from his pants where he had partially ended up in a drift along the edge of the street and glanced up. Just in time to catch the blade that was swung in his direction. He ducked and weaved out of the way, only to find his back shoved hard against a wall by a strong pair of hands. His assailant moved quickly but the scent that invaded his nostrils couldn’t be mistaken. Jonathan blinked through the momentary panic that seized him and recognized the red scarf first before those piercing blue eyes glared holes into him. He only acknowledged the knife at his throat as an afterthought to his panic.</p><p> </p><p>“Leech.” Ignoring the hostile greeting, Geoffrey looked somewhat amused by the encounter as if he wasn’t the one who just ambushed him in an alley like some sort of ill mannered highwayman. “So this was where you’ve been hiding. Clever bastard.” </p><p> </p><p>“McCullum.” Jonathan grunted, feeling the cold edge of the blade against his throat. He hissed as it threatened to break skin and stain his good shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you know about Swansea’s allegiance to the St. Paul Stole brothers, or was it entirely by coincidence?” The curiosity was palpable in McCullum’s voice. He was far too close for comfort, his human heart thudded loudly but calmly in Jonathan’s ears. Still a temptation and a distraction to his frayed and frazzled mind. He blinked slowly before catching onto the question.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw they were hiring doctors in the newspaper Mr. Babic gave me.” He answered honestly, his words cautious as he held his hands up in a placating gesture, hoping the blade would loosen from his neck and allow him some breathing room.</p><p> </p><p>The bark of laughter was absurdly loud, causing Jonathan to flinch at its unprompted explosion in his ears. The hunter looked like he’d just been told a rousing joke. “You’re serious?” McCullum questioned, earning a curt nod from the ekon. “My, do you have quite a bit of luck on your side.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want, McCullum?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want answers, Reid. I want the truth from you.” The blade lessened its presence against his neck until only the tip trailed down pale exposed skin. McCullum flicked the collar of Jonathan’s shirt down, exposing the two punctures in his neck, permanent scarring from his Maker. The hunter had noticed it the night they brought him back. The fact they never healed, even after he was well fed on what rations Vincent managed to gather for him. Jonathan was aware of the same fact but couldn’t, for the life of him, find any rational reasoning as to why the bite marks remain when other wounds heal. Even after being attacked by skals and ekons who sink their greedy fangs into his flesh, they fade after a few minutes as if they had never been there in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>“Ask your questions then, hunter.”</p><p> </p><p>“For starters, did you really report me to the authorities?” It wasn’t the question Jonathan was expecting, but he supposed he should have in the end. For a Detective, he did a poor job of keeping information secret.</p><p> </p><p>“I was doing my civic duty. The detective asked if I’d seen any suspicious figures skulking about at night and you were the first one to come to mind.” Jonathan admitted, relaxing his back against the building. McCullum’s body had him caged against the brickwork at knife point. Of course, he could easily over power the hunter but he found no harm in humoring him. After all, McCullum’s promises still rung in his ears. Compliance was rewarded. Honesty was given mercy. The only difference between then and now, was that Jonathan had the upper hand. McCullum played a good game of confidence, but they both knew the truth. If the good doctor didn’t want to stay here and talk, he would be long gone and McCullum would be lying in the street a bit disgruntled and maybe a bit bruised up in the process if the hunter forced his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m shocked the Inspector informed you of this.” Jonathan frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“He didn’t. I had a hunch and you confirmed it.” The wicked smile would have made the ekon blush in embarrassment if the blood in his veins ran warm enough. He looked perturbed, glancing away from the hunter when he caught the sound of movement down the street. His ears perked for any nearing signs of danger but the only creatures willing to traverse the night were the rats that taunted him from a distance. His fangs ached as his stomach growled at the blatant reminder that he hadn’t fed yet. McCullum’s presence wasn’t helping and neither did the bloodbath that covered Miss Jones’ room.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look so upset, Leech.” McCullum’s palm cupped the side of Jonathan’s face, dragging him out of his pensive state. He flinched away from the touch, startled and tense. He frowned after a moment, staring at the hunter's hands as if they were already soaked in blood. The taken aback expression caused McCullum to withdraw his blade and take a step back. Still within arm’s reach of the ekon, but offering a truce of breathing room and a minute display of trust that Reid won’t run off again.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan watched warily as McCullum tucked the knife back on his belt, just out of view inside his coat. “You get around these days.” McCullum continued. “I heard from my men that you’ve helped them out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is this another hunch that you’re trying to suss out the answer to?” Jonathan was cautious now, having learned his lesson the first time. “I won’t be an accomplice to another man’s torture.”</p><p> </p><p>McCullum snorted, a derisive sound of amusement. “From what I hear, you were a willing participant when Babic and Bonner intervened a few nights back.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan frowned, his expression sullen at the reminder. He stared at the snow that kicked up and dusted over his shoulder with the sudden wind. It tousled through McCullum’s hair, causing the neatly combed strands to fall haphazardly in his face. Were it under different circumstances, Jonathan would go so far as to say it added a charm to the hunter. A roguish nature that may have caught his eye in another life. Maybe while he was still human. He had to admit, his tastes ran along the lines of devilish and daring.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Babic was serious. I thought it was a ruse to scare those men to a more straight and narrow path.” Jonathan admitted quietly after a moment.</p><p> </p><p>McCullum scratched at his jaw, brushing the dampness of melted snow away from his cheek with a sigh. “To tell ya the truth, I’m not sure if he was serious either. Those two stir up enough trouble as is but they get the job done when necessary. They’re reliable.” Jonathan bristled at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that how you command your men? Acts of brutality in the streets?” The sudden anger that flared up inside Jonathan was startling, even for the ekon. The line of questioning turned very quickly into an assault as the doctor was reminded of an earlier incident. It had haunted him for days after. He still couldn’t get the image out of his head, the blood splatter on the sheets. The smell of death that permeated the room. When he went back to check on Nurse Crane, he could still smell it, soaked into the floorboards and the wall paper. He bared his fangs in a growl as he stepped towards the hunter. “Murdering sick civilians in a medical facility. Is that what you stand for now, McCullum? What happened to <em> not harming humans </em> or are the ill and infirm no longer considered human?”</p><p> </p><p>McCullum tensed as he stepped back a few paces. His hand went to his belt, fingers curled firmly around the hilt of his sword in warning. “<em> Reid.” </em> Jonathan’s advances halted but the sharpness in his eyes didn’t fade. His lips drawn back into a grimace as he hissed out.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not the only monster here, McCullum. I don’t neglect the innocent blood on my hands and I certainly don’t try to justify it as some kind of self-righteous act.” He spat the words in McCullum’s face, driven like venom from the fangs of an irate viper. The anger that surged in the hunter’s eyes showed his attack had landed a painful blow. McCullum’s jaw tightened, teeth ground together as he flexed his grip on his sword. Jonathan presumed he was just dying to drive it into his ribs right now but the ekon wouldn’t give him that luxury.</p><p> </p><p>“Leech.” The hunter cursed, his body wound tight as Jonathan twitched. A foreshadowing of movement before he slipped into a haze of black smoke then faded into the cold night air. His body wrapped into a veil of shadows, melting into the backdrop of the street. McCullum drew his sword then, whirling around as he scanned the darkest corners for Jonathan’s presence. He would be sorely mistaken and maybe even greatly disappointed as the doctor made a straight line back towards the hospital, moving as quickly as he could without losing his cover. The anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach and seeped out of him in waves of cold air.</p><p> </p><p>He definitely couldn’t risk searching for Sean Hampton tonight. His only desire was to return to his office and hopefully be left completely alone for what few hours remained before sunrise. McCullum’s presence was an errant thorn in his side and Jonathan suspected it was a wound that would quickly turn septic if he didn’t tend to it soon.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Haunted By The Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The fight with Mary.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the late update. This took me most of the night and most of the day to write up. Plus The Priwen Chronicles version that goes beside this update. </p><p>If you haven't read The Priwen Chronicles, i highly recommend you do as the updates go hand in hand with the chapters of Captiv(ation)!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan didn’t sleep well after his two time encounter with McCullum in one night. He felt worn out, run down and sick to his stomach by time night fell and he was dragged from the passing existence that eluded his comprehension. As daylight faded and he was released from his temporary prison, he sat on the edge of his bed and mulled over the recent events. He had a job to do, of course, but McCullum’s constant reminders were further irritating his situation. It was an understatement to consider him an unhealthy variable to his life but just as much as he despised the man and wanted to avoid him at any cost, he couldn’t help the realization that he was drawn to him simultaneously. Like a poison, or more specifically, a drug addiction.</p><p> </p><p>He knew it would only end in destruction. The only question would be if there would be any survivors left standing or if both of them would fall in the aftermath. They were a volatile chemical reaction just waiting to explode with the slightest shake. There was no cure for that type of relationship, especially given their not-so mundane predicament. A true Romeo and Juliet feud, only instead of love, they skipped straight to the dagger and vial of poison.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan summed the response up to lingering exposure from his time spent imprisoned. McCullum was the kindness before the kill. The pleasure before the endless pain. The high of the drug before the deadly crash. He posed himself as a friend but still wore the mask of the foe. It made Jonathan wonder if the kindness of his men thus far were just an extension of that control he was still trying to gain over the ekon. If they were part of his ploy in this sick game he refused to back down from. It hurt even deeper to think about, after all those conversations with Vincent and the encounters with Vukasin. The brief moments of companionship and understanding they shared in the small hours of long nights. Was it even real? Or was he simply kidding himself once again?</p><p> </p><p>It was a sad state of affairs when the ekon started to question his own sanity and the rationality of his relationships with others. It was preposterous, he decided. He was simply reading too far into mundane encounters. He was allowing paranoia and fear to grip him when he lacked the hard facts to back them up. It was a natural response to trauma, he reminded. He was still coping. He was still <em> grieving. </em>He acknowledged that maybe this meant he wasn’t in a fit condition to be working as he was, but his work was the only thing keeping him sane and distracted.</p><p> </p><p>He shook the thoughts from his head, stood up and started the night by watering Lisa and got dressed to perform his rounds. He wanted to get them over with quickly so he could spend the rest of the evening solving this dire matter involving Mr. Hampton.</p><p>
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</p><p>Finding Sean wasn’t the hard part. Of course he had to detour several times to avoid encountering Priwen patrols, but he eventually tracked the man down after stumbling upon several abandoned kills along the way. He hoped for Sean’s sake, they were only a coincidence but his gut instinct told him otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>Sean was cryptic, far more than he was prepared to deal with but he conceded to the Saint’s promise to wait for Jonathan to return and decide his fate. Jonathan was quickly made aware of his hatred for Vulkods. He thought sewer beasts were the worst creature to be birthed on this unholy plane of existence, but Vulkods gained his ire, and nothing was more satisfying than when he ripped his claws through Fergal Bansha and silenced his gloating and tedious rambling. The creature’s head was far removed from its body when Jonathan was finished and he was in a far better mood for it.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t expecting to find a living community in the sewers, least of all a community of sentient skals. It was an eye opening experience as he spoke with Old Bridget. She was a kind and gentle soul, if a bit disfigured by her affliction. He recalled the reports of the supposed Sewer Dog, including Booth Digby’s claim that it was an old woman. It suddenly clicked into place, as to who that fading mysterious figure had been.</p><p> </p><p>It was just the beginning as far as surprises went as he met with old Harriet Jones and examined her current condition. Old Bridget was right when she explained how bad of shape the elderly woman was in. Her mutated limbs were a violent pulsing red mass of flesh that looked to be consuming her. It was a disturbing sight that would have bothered him were he still a young intern in the medical field. Now, he has seen and endured far too much to find himself the luxury of being squeamish. Right down to the despicable act he was forced to commit each night to feed himself, harvesting the blood he needed from rats. He had to push past all sense of rational thinking that screamed at him that they were filthy, diseased creatures or even the fact that they were crawling in sewers and rotting garbage.</p><p> </p><p>Strange how he had to debase himself to animalistic tendencies in order to feel even remotely human again. </p><p> </p><p>The visit was brief when Harriet expressed her exhaustion. He left with so many more questions than he had answers but at least a few pieces of this confusing puzzle were starting to fall into place.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan wasn’t prepared for the decision he was forced to make regarding Sean or the implications of what he had to do to save him from his affliction. To sate his appetite and free him of it’s relentless control. He felt guilty, standing over the Sad Saint as he compelled him to drink. It did him no favors but Jonathan feared for the Saint’s flock and their overall safety. He didn’t blame Sean when he asked him to leave afterwards. He understood that he crossed a very thin line.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was tired to say the least. The night felt like it had been so long but dawn was still quite a ways off. His thoughts drifted towards his discoveries and how that linked back to his own problem when a scream tore through the air. He snapped his head up in time to see the shadow of something falling past the entrance of the Asylum. He rushed towards it just as Throgmorton, and the Paxton sisters did, only to find a man brutally broken and heaped on the ground. The snow and mud was stained in small puddles of blood, two puncture marks in his neck told that something inhuman was behind this murder.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take long to get witness statements, and after finding his mother’s broach in the man’s grasp, Jonathan was off trailing the culprit. Whoever they were, they cut a bloody path across half of London just to get his attention. Whispering his name into his ear before disappearing in a blur of shadows that was just too far out of reach. They were fast but Jonathan refused to let himself be outdone by some sadistic ekon lurking on the edge of his world. Especially when they appeared to have it out for his family. It made his blood boil just thinking about whatever cruel game they were playing.</p><p> </p><p>He landed at the base of the stairs leading towards the cemetery, taken aback with a sudden start when he noticed the bodies of the dead Priwen guards. He searched the faces with a wary glance, hoping he wouldn't find any familiar bodies amongst the wreckage. He was careful not to touch them when he passed, moving quietly up the steps and through the blood stained broken gates that had been thrown open with considerable force. All the skals that had lurked within the cemetery vicinity had been brutally dispatched and used to litter the ground like a trail of bloodied rose petals leading him to the center point.</p><p> </p><p>He moved slowly through the entrance into the circular lot where his sister was buried. In the very center where a large stone cross was erected upon a memorial, at the base lie a terrified man in white robes. Jonathan recognized him as Joseph Larrabee, the Vicar of St Mary's church and the man that Mr. Whitaker despised greatly. He had seen the Vicar a few times on his rounds, often tending to the wayward souls that found Sanctuary on the steps of his church, that is when Whitaker wasn't scaring them off with his raving madness and venomous ideals.</p><p> </p><p>"Vicar Larrabee?" Jonathan stepped towards him cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>The holy man looked pale and shaken up, a trembling hand raised to point in his direction, a raspy voice spoke accusingly. "Demon!" Jonathan frowned, surprised by the sudden bitter words directed towards him. "Hell Scourge! Son of Perdition."</p><p> </p><p>An all too familiar voice laughed into the cold night air. The snow that littered the earth had melted into puddles of slush, mixing with the mud that caked every surface like a plague. The cemetery was no different, slick and unseemly with all the bodies being buried through the epidemic and the violence it courted. "Vicar.. Vicar... Jonathan's no demon. He's just a soul returned from the dead. Like your Christ, Vicar."</p><p> </p><p>Through the cemetery, Jonathan followed that voice and felt the cold ache in his chest reignite with an explosion of feral pain. There, walking through the shadows and the snow was his sister Mary. A pale hollow reflection of the lively and spirited, kind young woman Jonathan remembered. Her eyes were red rimmed and so pale against the muted moonlight that spilled through the clouds. Beside her, was Emelyne Reid. Mary had a firm hold on the back of her coat as she guided her through the clutter between graves, right past her own as if parading the truth before their eyes. She was not six feet down in the frozen earth, she was here before them, a nightmare materialized.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stepped towards her, his voice stricken with wary disbelief. "Mary, is it really you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, it is me alright, precious brother!" Her words were full of mock cheer, a disturbing sound to his ears. Jonathan shook his head in refusal to believe it. He had wished to see his sister again, his dearly beloved little sister but not like this. Not in this place, twisted and bitter without an ounce of the radiant warmth left inside the husk she now occupied.</p><p> </p><p>"What is mother doing here?"</p><p> </p><p>She gestured expectantly before her as if it were obvious. "I'm gathering the family for a final reunion. All smiling, all dead. Thanks to the good Dr. Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"Mary." Jonathan pressed, desperate to find some shard of his dear sister inside this shadowy mimic of her former self.</p><p> </p><p>Mary shared a small perverse smile of delight as she leaned in to whisper to their mother. "Mother, say hello to your son."</p><p> </p><p>"Hello, Jonathan." It was stilted, lacking any feeling in her words. Jonathan knew Mary was playing with her mind but he forged on anyway. He had so much to say, so many things he wanted to apologize for. He just...didn't know where to start or even if he had the constitution to do so without crumbling.</p><p> </p><p>"Mother, I...." He trailed off, pained and unable to find the right words to say.</p><p> </p><p>Mary stifled a laugh. "What do we have here, mother?" She folded her hands in front of herself, pleased and taunting. "The prodigal son has lost his tongue...our Jonathan always had the first and last word at dinner. The entertainer, the star of our show."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry." Jonathan tried again, the distress shadowing his charming features into something morbid, darkened by the poor lighting that accompanied them in this macabre theatre. "Let me explai-"</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up!" Mary snapped, cutting him off. "It's my turn to do the talking!" She walked towards her grave, keeping it between them as she placed a hand against her chest. "I have this nasty hole in my chest, Johnny. It needs to breathe."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, you can speak." Jonathan stepped back, eager to relinquish the floor with hopes that Mary will finally divulge her motivation behind all this. Her reasoning for getting their mother involved, for murdering those people. He was starved for answers and was overwhelmed with so many questions, burdened by so much confusion. Part of him, the rational side of his mind, doubted all of this was even real. He killed her. She went cold in his arms. Her heart stopped. And yet, here she was and he didn't have a clue as to how that came to pass.</p><p> </p><p>She stopped, her back turned to him, thoughtful and dark. She fell silent as she worked the words around in her head. She folded her hands before her, her voice softening as she proceeded to speak her mind. "My prayers went so long without an answer. My husband," She gestured her hands, waving them as if to punctuate her point. "killed in France. My child, carried away by the flu. My brother," Her voice became distressed. "promising to return in his letters, then disappearing in thin air."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan’s eyes followed her as she paced back and forth, giving her his utmost attention, something he should have been doing all along. Long before any of this happened. His poor Mary, how much she had suffered in his absence, even when he was around he doubted he was really there enough to count. He was always so preoccupied with his studies and his research. He realized now, the injustice he committed towards her. How ostracized she may have felt, left to care for their ailing mother on her own while he ran about the world performing “miracles” with medicine.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan shook away his thoughts when she turned to face him as she continued. "I went from hospital to hospital, cemetery to cemetery, grave to grave...I've lifted every stone in London...searching for an end to the nightmare...And there you were- in front of me...on a dark pier." She stopped to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stepped forward, moving closer to try and connect with his sister, his voice low, barely concealing the tremor. He waved his hand in a sharp motion as if he could clear these horrid memories out of the air like they were smoke from a flame. "The hunger had taken me." He pointed at his chest, trying to explain. Desperate for words that could break through the wall that had been erected between them. His Mary seemed so far away from him, even now. Farther than she had been when she wrote all those poignant letters to him while he was away, both during his research and while he served in the war. If he could go back and somehow make it all better, he would. But the reality was, he feared the damage may have already been done.</p><p> </p><p>"The joy to have finally found you. I longed for your arms, a final happy ending to so much tragedy. To tell me all would be well again as you did when we were children." The hope that was in her voice only further drove the dagger into his heart. The pain that riddled it, the darkness seeped into her once cheerful and lively features. It was all so wrong, so twisted and vile now. Her eyes no longer held the warmth he had come to associate with his beloved sister. They were dead now, empty.</p><p> </p><p>She gritted her teeth and growled in a sudden sharp change. "It was this filthy dock where you greeted your sister." She turned towards her grave with a sneer. "I dug a tunnel from my grave with my fingers and teeth." She spat out, in both definitions of the word.</p><p> </p><p>"Mary, I thought I had murdered you. I tried to end myself." His voice trembled as he shook his head. He doubted he would get through to her, but he had to spare some vain hope for the sake of his sister. For the woman she used to be. "We've been through the same horror."</p><p> </p><p>"We are a disease, Jonathan. A sickness that corrupts all it touches, all we kiss and all we kill. Look at me, admire your ilk!" She held her hands out, demanding his attention.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm so sorry..." He pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>"Apologies will not suffice, I demand reparation. I want a miracle. Are you a miracle worker, Dr. Reid?" She asked in a sickly sweet mocking tone. Jonathan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his words eluded him. "No?" She laughed, a haughty unnatural sound from his sweet beloved sister. <em> Oh, how she was twisted up inside </em>. "I'll show you mine, then! The family Reid, reunited and complete, living forever in a red sea of eternal love."</p><p> </p><p>Her words were punctuated by a sudden burst of shadows as she darted towards their mother. Jonathan stumbled back a few steps, startled by the action. "Time to go, mother. Say hello to my son for me.." Mary bent Emelyne’s neck as if she were some lifeless puppet, baring it to the cold chill as she moved to bite.</p><p> </p><p>"Mary, wait!" Jonathan shouted as he stepped towards them as he reached out to Mary in desperation, his eyes pleading at her to listen. <em> To understand </em>. "I have made friends with vital knowledge on vampires. We are not alone, Mary. With time we can learn to live almost as we lived before." She let go of Emelyne's neck as she listened but still held their mother close, a mockery of a hug as her arms snaked around her fragile body.</p><p> </p><p>“How long?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” It was softer than Jonathan intended, confusion made it sound brittle and uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>"How long will this masquerade continue? I've been watching you all these nights in Whitechapel pretending you're still a doctor. You believe you're just fighting a disease." She pointed a finger at him accusatory. "But it's <em> you </em>, the disease, Jonathan, you."</p><p> </p><p>He protested sharply. "I'm a scientist! I'll find a solution. Let our mother go, please."</p><p> </p><p>"You were always the one to sway me to reason, Jonathan, but before your motivations were always pure. Now you're tainted."</p><p> </p><p>"Let her go! She has no part to play in this!" His voice took on a sharper threatening note. His desperation turned to anger, a sudden wild flare directed at her. It only furthered the guilt that was eating at his cold undead heart.</p><p> </p><p>Mary shook her head in indecision. "Very well. Have you heard our good doctor? You can go home, mother." She patted her shoulder. "Go home and rest in peace..."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I'll go home and rest…” It was horrifying to see his mother so void of emotion, acting without feeling or concern as she started walking towards the cemetery gates. He wanted to move towards her, to wrap his arms around her and console her. To help her get home safely through these skal riddled streets, but Mary prevented him from doing just that. Jonathan was genuinely afraid of what the backlash would be should he try, would she go back on her word and kill their mother in front of him? It was a terrifying truth when he realized he couldn’t trust her anymore. The sister that he relied on, that he loved and adored, the sweet young girl that grew up to be such a bright minded and compassionate woman; was nothing more than a ruthless murderer. And it was all his fault.</p><p> </p><p>Mary giggled in twisted delight "It's so easy to make them obey and forget. Puppets for our pleasure." She made a mockery of a motion with her hands. "I've seen you have your fun." It was pointed and condescending, causing Jonathan to wince inwardly. He only used his abilities to help people and he felt rightfully ashamed afterwards. Even good intentions didn’t excuse the fact it was unethical but the Hippocratic Oath didn’t extend to vampire etiquette in the workplace.</p><p> </p><p>“You are mad.”</p><p> </p><p>Mary barked out a laugh and applauded him. "Oh! So that's what I am, Doctor. Mad. I was beginning to wonder...I've been hearing these voices in my head." She gestured to her ears. "One in particular...that of my dead brother." She growled at the end. "This is the reason I must kill you. Not for your betrayal, not for our poisonous kiss, not even for the lies you tell yourself..." She strutted towards the cross her words hardened. "No, it's so that smooth and wicked voice will stop <b> <em>ringing</em> </b> in my ear." She bent down to rip the cross out of the earth.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan stepped away from her warily, still pleading. "Mary, no. Don't."</p><p> </p><p>"Time to die, brother, and this time for good!"</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan would have considered this some cruel joke when his sister brandished her own cross at him. A sickening irony to the misery that he was already a victim of. He dodged her advances, parrying the strikes with the hacksaw tucked inside his coat. It was slow and clumsy compared to his machete but he sadly lost that weapon a week earlier when he got ambushed by two ekons by the docks. Mary was faster with her weapon and brutal in her execution. </p><p> </p><p>"You killed me Johnny then you simply disappeared!" She cursed at him. "I thought you had abandoned me for good. That maybe you felt some guilt for what you had done." She continued. "But then you appear out of thin air. You're quite the magician, Dr. Reid. But it's time to put an end to your disappearing act."</p><p> </p><p>Blood pooled the earth as Mary gagged and puked, her eyes bloodshot and infuriated as she snarled through crimson stained teeth, baring her fangs at him. The blood bloomed across the earth, racing towards him like sentient thorns trying to snare him in place. He dodged and leapt, dealing one blow after another, forcing her off balance as she stumbled and swung. The cross caught him in the arm, causing his weapon to fall from his grasp.</p><p> </p><p>Mary laughed, a sharp and vicious sound as she utilized the moment to lunge for Vicar Larrabee. “No!” Jonathan cried out, a burst of shadows as he threw himself at her, forcing her to drop the half unconscious man. Her teeth met Jonathan’s neck, ripping into the tender flesh as she drank from him deeply. He cried out, the pain burning into his chest like a hot iron brand before she tore herself away and giggled cruelly.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll spare him but you couldn’t spare me?” She smiled, a vicious bloody smile. “Come dear brother, give your sweet sister a kiss.” </p><p> </p><p>“This needs to end Mary.” Jonathan demanded, recovering his composure as she stalked towards him. She held the cross out at her side as if it were a saber at her disposal. She smiled, a mocking twist of her lips that didn’t disguise the lies and the hate that burned underneath it all. “Mary?” It was soft as she reached a hand towards him, a gentle cup of his cheek as she laughed once more. A breathy sound, barely a whisper from her chest. It was sudden and sharp as she struck him across the face, a sudden tear of claws on his skin, dragging another scream from his lungs. He darted away, one hand cradling his face as she grinned at him.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve always been the gullible one, dear brother. You never could harden your heart, even when it hurt.” She raised the cross, aiming it in his direction in a silent promise of pain.</p><p> </p><p>The fight ensued, as Jonathan darted away and rolled across the snowy landscape riddled with blood and the scars of their battle. He managed to snag his hacksaw out of the mud and brought it up in time to stop another blow. She hissed at him, a primal sound that chilled him to his core as he raked his claws up her torso, tearing through the fragile threads of her dress and ripping flesh apart. She stumbled back, swinging one more time in a blind attempt to fend him off. The cross shattered when it connected with a headstone, falling into broken pieces at their feet. Mary dropped to her knees, a sharp gasp fleeing her lips.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, brother, it's time to bring this conversation to an end...forever." She rose from her knelt position and held the broken cross out towards him.</p><p> </p><p>"You know I will not play this game..." Jonathan shook his head in refusal, hoping this is just some sick joke. One final fallacy that she thought to nail into him like the coffins beneath their feet. A dead song and dance orchestrated by a hateful reaper that haunted his unlife.</p><p> </p><p>"Come now, Doctor. Like a rabid dog, or think you're performing an autopsy..." She pleads.</p><p> </p><p>He takes the broken cross away from her as he chastises harshly "Don't be ridiculous." He stepped closer and she hit him in the chest but it's weak and pitiful. She refused to meet his eyes and there it was, the shadows that lingered from a small frightened girl, too afraid to face the truth but too proud to admit it to the world. Mary was always strong in her own right, she was his shoulder to lean on, and now she was his burden to bear.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll kill them all. The kind Dr. Swansea. The sweet lad with the blood sickness." Her words fracture as she grows more desperate. Jonathan stepped closer until he loomed over her. "I am the harbinger, bringing your punishment." She finally met his eyes when he cupped her cheek. It was gentle and harbored no malice or anger. He didn’t take it personally. He could see the pain in her eyes, the horrors she had to face alone in this world, all because of him.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan spoke softly, like he did when they were children and she was upset for some reason or another. Seeking his guidance and his companionship. "<em> Mary... </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Don't you see? This is not me. Flesh that never ages. All nightmare, no dream. Bring it to a close. Let me sleep." Jonathan never let go of her as he finally drove the cross into her chest, cradling her head in his hand. She smiled, a tiny genuine smile for the first time since their fateful deadly reunion in Southwark.</p><p> </p><p>"I will find a cure, Mary." He pulled the cross out as blood pooled onto the cold ground. "I swear it." He promised, looking down into her eyes as she obtained her final peace. The relief washed over her, smoothing out the broken and twisted pieces that had been crammed together in this hollow unfortunate existence she found herself in.</p><p> </p><p>"Then - at last - I can forgive you." She collapsed into his arms as he lifted her with ease, carrying her back towards her grave. She was as light as a feather, as she always was when they were smaller. Always more on the frail side than she had any right to be. He did not stifle the bloody tears that trailed coldly down his face. He did not hide his shame or his sorrow. Not this night. For once, he let his voice be heard as he cried for her death. How cruel the world was, to force his hand not once, but twice. How much more did it wish to see him suffer? Who else will it take away from him before it is satisfied? An eternal death was a tempting thought, it called to him. How easily it would be to lie here and let the snow fall over them both. The gun may have missed the first time but he was certain the cross wouldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It was a dreadful thought and it took everything in his power to force it off, battling it away with the promise he made. As tempting as that end would be, he would find a cure for this affliction and he would make Mary proud. He would earn her forgiveness and only then could he look her in the eyes again.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Old Habits Die Hard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan finally makes the trip to see his mother. He is surprised by who else is waiting for him in his childhood home.</p>
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    <p>Jonathan had dragged himself out of that cemetery in the last shreds of night, but not before mesmerizing Vicar Larrabee to forget what he had witnessed. It was all just a terrible dream he had, the stress of the epidemic and the war was finally getting to him. He carried the half-unconscious man back to Whitechapel and left him on the steps of the church. He lingered long enough to ensure someone had found him, that kind soul turned out to be the resident mute florist, Camelia. She left after a moment and returned with Mr. Nithercott and together they carried the unconscious Vicar off towards someplace warmer and safer than these dangerous streets.</p><p> </p><p>With one less guilty deed weighing on his conscience, Jonathan took the long way back to his office where he locked himself away and collapsed onto his bed. He was beyond drained, having spent most of his energy fending off Mary’s advances. Their deadly dance had ended in blood as all of his relationships do these days. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is special anymore. Everything ends in heartbreak and misery.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have the energy to drag himself out of his clothes before giving into sleep. It came quickly but not sweetly. Nightmares plagued him in one final cruelty unleashed from the universe. He woke up, far more tired than he had any right to be and still lacked the motivation to join the living of this world. Or even to hunt for food.</p><p> </p><p>The only thought that worked at spurring him to his feet was the fear of what became of his mother. Mary had played a deadly game of toying with her mind, against his better judgement, he couldn’t chase after her. He had searched the streets as he carried the Vicar along, dreading that he would find her body crumpled on the corner, feasted upon by some skal or beast that crawled out of the sewers and refuse that cluttered the poorer district. He was relieved that he hadn’t but it didn’t still his worries. There were plenty of other horrible outcomes that could have happened to her.</p><p> </p><p>It was these same concerns that got him to his feet. He cleaned up, changed his clothes into something more appropriate and stood nervously at the balcony door. He fiddled with his scarf, second guessed his attire, changed coats <em> twice </em> even. He was well aware that he was stalling himself. He was only delaying the inevitable until he heaved a pointless breath and stepped off the balcony. The sound of his shoes on the cobblestones was deafening in his ears as he traversed the cold snow covered streets. Soft white flakes fell from the sky in delicate dances, landing on the lifeless shoulders of his coat. He didn't even have the body heat preserved to melt them as it was. It only furthered the concern that his mother would notice the change that had overcome him since his absence before the war.</p><p> </p><p>Would he still be her beloved son? Or did she remember the beast that stood before her, forced to slaughter her only daughter. He was relieved that she left before things got violent but it didn't silence the rotting sickening sensation that settled heavily in his stomach. As if he had fed upon rancid blood as of late. Which he had done, <em> once. </em> He was curious and he paid for it with his dignity and he was made violently ill. Edgar had walked in on him, able to hear Jonathan's sickness from down the hall, along with his quiet whimpers as he dragged himself towards his bed and half clung to a trash bin for the sanctity of his life.</p><p> </p><p>He learned a bit about vampire dietary needs and was warned by Edgar that the same, if not worse, would follow if he tried to eat human food again. His biological design was no longer meant to digest that way. It was a miserable night for him, but Edgar kindly informed the staff that he was incapacitated by a stomach bug so nobody would bother him in his office.</p><p> </p><p>This sickly sensation was but a shadow of that horrible incident, a tightening gut wrenching pain that was more stress than flu. He knew it well, had experienced something similar when he was a new doctor just starting out. He was full of enthusiasm and curiosity, but still so nervous about his ability to perform under pressure. Turns out, despite his nerves, he was a natural. Took to the tasks like a fish to water. It seemed silly later on when he looked back on it, but through his long life, he still felt moments of inadequacy. He felt guilty and ashamed, or frightened by the variables of the unknown.</p><p> </p><p>Even now, when facing his own mother, those frightening variables loomed over him in a way that no other vampire or hunter could. It scared him. This was the woman that gave birth to him, that knew him right down to his very soul. Who made him into the man he was today. Correction, the man he was up until he died. The man he was today was a shadow of his former self. His hands were bloody, his nightmares haunted and plentiful. His conscience is far from clear.</p><p> </p><p>Would she see the truth when she looked into his eyes? Would she be able to tell that he was a monster disguised as her baby boy?</p><p> </p><p>The walk to the West End felt like forever. Every step was a burden. His thoughts raced a mile a minute. He tried to distract them, he thought of formulas for his most recent serums, how he could improve them, the ingredients he would need the next time he spoke with Nurse Crane. He thought of fashioning a better weapon than the hacksaw he carried, aware that he only had so many bullets for his revolver. It was cumbersome and slow, but far easier to get away with under the guise of <em> should I need to perform an emergency amputation, I can. </em></p><p> </p><p>The thought had been a joke he offered to Edgar when the Administrator looked at him with questioning and curious eyes. The laughter that followed had been light and genuine as the doctor wiped tears from behind his glasses and sighed pleasantly. Edgar was aware that Jonathan used it to defend against the beasts that lurked in the shadows and quietly wrote off its absence from the surgical room as the tool had been broken and in need of replacement.</p><p> </p><p>It kept Dr. Ackroyd and Dr. Strickland from asking questions at least which suited him in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>He followed the route through the docks, knowing full well it would lead him to his home with less chance of crossing paths with anyone he may have known from his previous life. He had enough on his mind as is without having to worry about what others would think of his new disposition. Too many people he had spent long evenings with or attended dinner parties with his family. Too many smiling faces, all so fake and morbid underneath as if they were hiding some dark secrets from the rest of the world. He hated the double edged sword of society, the gossip that spread like wildfire. The small minded views that lorded over the masses, unrelenting in their skewed and old fashioned beliefs when change was necessary for progress.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have the energy to grin and bear it tonight.</p><p> </p><p>The streets were quiet. The soft tumble of snow landed on the sidewalks and dusted his shoulders, cloaking them in white. He was glad to see they were empty with only a few sparse shops that remained open. It was better lit here than it was in the poorer areas, the damages from the bombs appeared to leave the neighborhood intact. He couldn’t say the same for Whitechapel or the other less fortunate boroughs around Pembroke. It still left him relieved to know his family had survived the worst of the fallout. At least, until he returned.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of his shoes on the shoveled sidewalk were deafening in his ears when he came to a stop before his own front door. His undead heartbeat a little faster, the sluggish pace almost seemed human in its idling beats. That coiled nest of nerves returned in full force like writhing vines wrapped up and tangled around sharpened thorns.</p><p> </p><p>“I shouldn’t have come.” He murmured to himself. He wanted to turn around, to leave right this second and head back to Pembroke. He was aware that it was cowardly, but he couldn’t bring himself to look his mother in the eyes after all that he’s done. He heaved a sigh and started to turn away when the door clicked, a flash of movement was caught in the corner of his eye. He saw a body fill the entrance of the doorway before it keeled over with a familiar curse in the air. Their footing slipped on the icy steps. Jonathan reacted without thinking, lunging forward to catch them with open arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarence?” Jonathan was bewildered when he took in the rough and weary face of his oldest and best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Christ. Jonny? You’re alive!” Clarence exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” Jonathan pressed, raking a critical eye over his person, searching for unseen injuries. The weight of an unsteady body turned into a crushing hug as Clarence wrapped his arms around Jonathan.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know whether to kiss you or hit you.” Clarence cursed into the crook of Jonathan’s shoulder as he clung to him. His face buried into his jacket as he mumbled. “I thought you were dead. We all did. Oh god, Jonny, <em> your sister. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Jonathan sighed, snaking his arms around his friend as he relished in this familiar embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time he held someone close for reasons other than staving off the freezing cold or dragging them towards the medical tents. It felt <em> good. </em>It felt right and human.</p><p> </p><p>He drew away from Clarence after a moment, one hand still gripped his shoulder. Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to relinquish his touch and Clarence appeared to share the sentiment, clinging to his arm with both hands. As if letting go of the other would give the universe the chance to swallow them up in a final act of cruelty.</p><p> </p><p>“Mister Jonathan?” The age roughened voice of Avery filled the doorway as the butler stood in equal astonishment. His tired eyes widened in shock as he gripped the door frame for support.</p><p> </p><p>“Avery, how are you?” Jonathan spoke fondly, a small weary smile gracing his lips. His nerves melted away slowly as the familiar faces rejoiced at his return. Clarence dragged him up the steps by his arm, causing Jonathan to nearly stumble to keep up as they took shelter from the bitter cold. He peeled off his coat and scarf, hanging them up himself as he carefully arranged them on the rack. Clarence didn’t stop grinning at him, that large dopey smile that he wore when they were youths running around the neighborhood causing trouble for their parents.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go make some tea.” Avery chimed, shuffling off as fast as his old bones could move with the weathered years.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan turned towards Clarence as the man reached for him with a pained expression. "Jonny, I need to tell you something."</p><p> </p><p>"What is it, Clarence?" He was concerned, brows knitted together as he stepped closer. One hand resting on his friend's shoulder, a firm reassuring squeeze urging him to speak his mind.</p><p> </p><p>"It's about your mother. She hasn't been well for a long time now, Jonny and last night…" His voice trailed for a moment. "The police found her wandering the streets by herself. She talked about you and Mary. How you were both dead in Stonebridge."</p><p> </p><p>"I see." It was unsettling news indeed but it was the truth. He worried that her mental state had taken a hard hit from whatever mind games Mary had played with her. The silence that fell between them was heavy as Jonathan mulled it over and prepared himself for the worst. "Where is she? I want to see her."</p><p> </p><p>"She's in the parlor." Clarence gestured down the hallway. "I was just leaving when I ran into you."</p><p> </p><p>"Hm, quite literally." Jonathan commended earning a breathy laugh from his friend as they started to walk.</p><p> </p><p>No amount of preparation or precautions could have readied him for this. There were no steps to take, no amount of mental and emotional preparedness when it came to seeing a family member so broken and lost. A shard of their former self. Jonathan didn't know which was worse, how Emelyne was when they were in Stonebridge or now, when she greeted him with a sad smile from where she was on the sofa, her petite tiny body wrapped up in quilts to fend off the chill.</p><p> </p><p>"My son has finally returned from the dead. Welcome home my sweet boy." She raised a hand towards him, her eyes rife with pain. Jonathan's chest tightened as he stooped to accept it, before dropping to kneel before her. He held her fragile fingers in his own larger colder hands. She didn't withdraw from his touch, there was no disgust in her eyes. Only the painful acceptance of the truth. He was dead and that was a fact that they both knew but for vastly different reasons.</p><p> </p><p>"Mother, I'm finally home." His voice was brittle as he reached a hand up to cup her cheek and place a kiss upon her wrinkled face. She closed her eyes and relaxed into it, the pitiful strength in her hands clutched at his fingers as she tried to pull him closer. He wanted to hold her, to wrap his arms around her tiny form like he did when he was a child. To plead to her for her affections and her forgiveness when he made mistakes. To feel her unconditional love, so pure and untainted by the bias that plagued his life. He was a broken man, reduced to a child that just wanted his mother back. It was in that moment that he empathized with the dying men in the hospitals and the trenches whose last words were a plea for their mothers. In that moment, he was just like them. He held her close but she still felt so far away and he felt lost all the more for it.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan." She brushed her fingers through his hair and pecked a kiss to his forehead. Her sickly sweet smile was a balm that soothed the festering ache inside him. It was a toxin that numbed the painful raw wounds that scarred his heart and made it feel trapped in a stranglehold of barbed wire. They both knew this wouldn't last. It was a charade and they were fooling themselves by participating. But for one spare moment, he wanted to believe he could have it all back. That he could return to the days before he left. That he could make amends. He wanted to lie to himself and let rationality be damned just this once.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to cry, the burning sensation was there like a swollen ball in his throat and a fire behind his eyes. He was well aware that the two only sane people in the house would notice the bloody streaks and ask far too many questions should he allow such weakness. He swallowed them back and straightened up.</p><p> </p><p>Avery brought in a fresh tray of tea and poured a cup for each of them. He lingered afterwards at Jonathan's request as they each took a seat. "Where have you been, Jonny?"</p><p> </p><p>"My apologies." Jonathan started, a carefully crafted lie already wrapped around his tongue. It unraveled naturally, almost frightfully so. "I had tried to send word of my delay but I assume my letter had been lost." It was quite common during the war. Letters that never made it, messages intercepted by enemy units or just poor management of parcels and transports.</p><p> </p><p>He raised the cup of tea to his lips and inhaled the herbal aroma. A small hint of honey to sooth the irritation of the winter cold on the throat. He didn't drink from it but made a good show that he did. When he set the cup down on the saucer, he folded his hands and straightened up on the sofa. Emelyne sat beside him, the blankets tucked close around her to warm her thin bones. Clarence was in an armchair across from them while Avery brought another in from the office, taking a seat near Mrs. Reid.</p><p> </p><p>"I stayed back in France another month. I was about to depart when I was asked to prolonged my service a little longer. I accepted and tried to write to you about the change." He relaxed back into his seat.</p><p> </p><p>"How long have you been back, sir?" It was Avery this time. </p><p> </p><p>"A couple days. With the epidemic and the quarantine, I quickly found work at Pembroke Hospital upon my return. I've been so busy that I couldn't tear myself away to check in. I'm terribly sorry, mother." His apology was genuine even though his words were a lie. A cruel fantasy that he wished he could occupy. The devoted doctor that put the needs of others before himself. It made it seem like he wasn't hiding all this time, making excuses and burying his head in his work just to avoid witnessing the heartbreak of what little family he had left. What good did that do now? </p><p> </p><p>If he had returned home, if he had come straight to his mother, would he have been able to stop Mary sooner? Would their mother have been spared this cruel and unforgiving state of destruction that befell her? Would she have smiled at him more warmly? Held him closer and not minded the cold of his touch. Would she have fretted and frowned and chastised him about taking better care of himself? After all, he was a doctor. He should know better.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. New Discoveries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan discovers something entirely new about himself and his new condition. He isn't certain whether its a good thing or not.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I will be taking a break from updating chapters for a week for both The Priwen Chronicles and Captivation so I can work on future chapters for the fic in a leisurely manner. (And so I can try and get ahead without the rain storms knocking out my internet all day and night)</p><p>I promise I will be back, thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the story so far!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan spent the better most of two hours catching up on everything. At the beginning, he spoke of the war and his delay, he humored his mother who went on about how her dead children were all visiting her and how much she delighted in their presence. Even going so far as to ask why Mary didn’t come with Jonathan today. The room fell quiet, as both Clarence and Avery became painfully aware of the tortured expression on Jonathan’s face. He hung his head and shook it slowly. After a moment, he forced a smile and held his mother’s hand, gently explaining that it was too late for Mary to come. She needed to stay with her husband and child. Emelyne nodded in understanding. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it has gotten late, hasn’t it?” Her pale blue eyes searched the room until they landed on Avery with a tired smile. “Avery, be a dear and help me to my room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes madam.” </p><p> </p><p>When they left, it was only Clarence and Jonathan. They spoke for an hour, discussing the war, their experiences, the battles they fought in and the close calls they barely managed to survive. It was just past midnight when the tension snaked down between them like a slow moving serpent as Clarence shifted nervously. Finally, he spit out what had been plaguing his mind now that they were alone. Jonathan wasn’t expecting the topic to be about vampires, but Clarence told him about what he saw in Rouen, France. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure they were not….just <em> kissing? </em>” Jonathan asked when Clarence spoke of the officer who fed on a soldier. It was not uncommon for men to find comfort in their fellow soldiers and to eventually form stronger bonds with them. Mr. Blight and Mr. Thatcher were proof that even taboos in society could be saving graces in the midst of the hell they faced. There was no shame in love, as far as Jonathan was concerned though a large population of London would probably wildly disagree. Which is why France was an opportunity for many young men on leave to explore their tastes and find a piece of happiness in the small hours of long nights.</p><p> </p><p>“No Jonny. I checked. The man was dead.” Clarence went on to explain. Telling him he did so much research when he returned from the front. He found others who knew about it. The Brotherhood of St Paul’s Stole, and the Guard of Priwen.</p><p> </p><p>The latter caused Jonathan to tense up in his seat before he could correct himself and relax. He cleared his throat and decided to busy his hands with cleaning up their mess from tea. He would give Avery a break after all the hard work he’s done these last few years in his absence. He would resolve to make it up to the man for his loyalty and service to his family.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was relieved to hear that Clarence hadn’t spoken with either of these groups yet and he warned him with caution when chasing these facts.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t believe me?” Clarence looked offended, the hurt expression in his eyes made Jonathan wilt.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, Clarence but when seeking the truth, an alert mind is also necessary. I don’t want to see you be hurt in all this.” Jonathan pressed. “There is an epidemic going on. I worry for your safety.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- I’m sorry, Jonny. Thank you. It’s nice having someone who believes me. Venus...well. I’m determined to convince her.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand against his cheek. Jonathan offered a sympathetic smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You look tired, Clarence. You should head home and rest.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess, you’re right.” He admitted almost sadly. Then he smiled, raising his head to meet Jonathan’s eyes. A genuine smile lit up on Clarence’s features as he rose from his seat. Jonathan balanced the tray in one hand as he was pulled into another hug, less crushing now as his friend spoke. “I’m happy to see you Jonny. I really am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Same to you, old friend.” He patted Clarence on the back and returned one of the rare real smiles he’s been able to offer since he returned home. It felt strange on his face as he walked Clarence to the door and watched him <em> safely </em>descend the steps. Then he returned to cleaning up the parlor, washed the dishes in the kitchen and informed Avery that he was heading out again. He still had so much work to do.</p><p> </p><p>He was nearly out of the room when Avery called out to him. “Mister Jonathan, I almost forgot.” He lured the doctor down to his father’s old study and dug out a letter from inside the desk. “Your father wanted me to give this to you on your 35th birthday. Since you were deployed, I could not do so.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Avery.” The butler began to walk away when Jonathan caught him on the shoulder and stole his attention again. “I mean it, for everything you have done for us. For my mother. For me.”</p><p> </p><p>A warm smile met those withered features as Avery nodded in acceptance. “Of course sir.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan waited until he was alone before opening the letter, reading over the long scrawling script of his father’s handwriting. It was strange, reading his words after all these years as he broached the reason for his sudden disappearance without warning. Jonathan had been bitter upon discovering this, that he had planned his abandonment of their family, it had been a hard blow to their mother and the beginning of the end for the creative and bright minded woman she once was. Jonathan couldn’t fathom why it was that his father had left them, but as he finished reading the letter, he came to the realization that he himself was no better. He had done the exact same thing to their family, with far more devastating results.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t justify resenting the man. It hurt, the sudden loss of the father he loved and adored so dearly, who supported him in all his aspirations and crazy theories. Who stood by his side when he wanted to be a doctor and watched over him as he studied long and hard into the nights. The shoulder he leaned on, the advice he offered in the quiet early hours of morning when something didn’t click right and Jonathan was left frustrated and puzzled. The games and riddles his father would devise that kept his mind sharp and his spirits high as he deciphered them.</p><p> </p><p>It would appear his father had one last game up his sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>“Temple Garden Park.” Jonathan realized by the end, the hint was terribly easy but he surmised it wouldn’t be so simple to find the next clue. The park was vast and the box could be hidden anywhere. </p><p> </p><p>The trip to the park was longer than expected but Jonathan didn’t mind the walk. He scanned the park with a critical eye, drawing on all his memories of playing here with Mary when they were small, and all the little clues and puzzles his father had littered throughout the grounds over the years. “If I were Aubrey Reid, where would I hide my final clue?” Jonathan hummed. “It would have to be somewhere particularly devious since I’m no longer hiding it from a child.”</p><p> </p><p>It may have looked suspicious given the late hour as Jonathan searched every nook and cranny he recalled from his childhood. It took another solid hour before his final hail mary location led him to a small corner tucked away from everything else by a brick wall. Inside the nook, behind the trees that sheltered it from the rest of the park, there was a loose brick marked with white paint with an overlapping AR in neat script. His father's marking.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had to use his claws to pry it free where snow and ice had frozen it in place. He was afraid he may shatter the brick by time it finally came loose. Inside was a metal box tucked all the way back in the dirt and cobwebs. He carefully extracted the tin and was putting the brick back in place when a voice entered the cold quiet night air.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan jolted in surprise when he realized he wasn't alone in this late hour. He peered carefully through the trees with his ekon sight and caught the sluggish heartbeat of another of his kind. He had a sack hanging over his shoulder as he grumbled and cursed about something that Jonathan couldn't quite make out. Only the mute sounds of his voice as he bickered to himself. He shadow stepped closer to the other ekon, trailing close behind out of curiosity but careful not to alert them to his presence. </p><p> </p><p>"-I'll make her see reason. She'll agree to marry me and she'll finally be mine for eternity. She'll love me soon. I swear it. She'll learn. She'll learn very soon."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan would consider that to be the ravings of a mad man. A very obsessed and dangerous man, or ekon in this case.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm beginning to understand why Priwen dislikes ekons so much. Every one I've met so far has been utterly insane." It was a painfully true observation that Jonathan took no delight in admitting. With his undeniable need to poke his nose in things it is not welcome in, and the growing gut wrenching concern that that ekon has some nefarious plan devised for this mysterious <em> she. </em> He quickly continued his pursuit as he descended into a construction site recovering from the bombings.</p><p> </p><p>Below the surface, it opened up to a sewer tunnel. The walls were cold and grimy, the stench was muted only by the fact most of the water was frozen which made it no less treacherous to navigate. Jonathan had to go slow to get through and then it became a task of trying to find which tunnels would lead him where he needed to go. He had quickly lost track of the other ekon who appeared far better versed in the terrain.</p><p> </p><p>He eventually found the first signs of the vampire and its presence by the frozen corpse that lay broken and bloody in one of the tunnels. A note tucked in the pockets told him the deceased was Mr.Teasdale, father of the missing woman Miss Louise Teasdale. There was a bloody smear across the bricks that looked vaguely like an arrow. A last attempt by a dying man to find his daughter.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan followed the direction of the tunnel until he could hear voices again. The sound of the ekon but this time he was accompanied by the feminine voice of a young woman. "I'm going to get out of here, I swear. I won't ever marry a bastard like you!"</p><p> </p><p>"Now, now, my sweet. You'll understand soon enough." Jonathan slowly stepped towards the ledge overlooking the small branch off of the sewer. There was a grated floor and a gate that led to a mess of pipes. Behind the gate was where the young woman stood, a slender but fierce stance. Her eyes were hard with determination, her face battered by older healing injuries. They were small, mostly bruises or tiny cuts on her cheek and jaw. Nothing serious.</p><p> </p><p>The other ekon was distracted but the woman was alert and wary. Her eyes slid towards the corner where Jonathan stood. He held a hand up, pressing his index finger against his lips for her to maintain her silence. The tiniest smile met her eyes as she nodded her compliance. They shifted to something fiery and enraged as she struck her palms against the gate and made the bars rattle from the force. </p><p> </p><p>"If you touch me, I swear I'll rip your nuts off and make you choke on them!" Jonathan smiled at that, realizing she was giving him an opening. He dropped down quietly to the grate, mindful to time his steps with her rising voice so the ekon wouldn't hear him. The man looked perturbed as he stepped towards the gate, his brows furrowed into a frown as he tried to plead with her. </p><p> </p><p>"It will be alright, my love. I will make you understand in time. Just accept my gift and we'll have eternity forever." He spoke softly, his fangs flashed in a self satisfied smile. "You will make a fine bride and an even stronger ekon. Together, we could tear this city apart. The streets will be soaked in blood as we drink our fill like a fine wine."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan drew the double barrel short shotgun he procured from an abandoned Priwen outpost. He lined it up with the back of the ekon's head, at point blank range. Miss Teasdale ducked away from the gate as Jonathan pulled the trigger and unleashed a white phosphorus round into his skull. The shot did equal parts blast and burn damage to the body as the ekon dropped to the grates. Jonathan pressed the barrel over the ekon's heart and executed him for good.</p><p> </p><p>"That worked a lot better than I anticipated." Jonathan hummed pleasantly. He had done quite a bit of digging and found an old report signed off by McCullum at one of the older Priwen outposts. It detailed how White Phosphorus was a deadly combatant against vampires. Sunlight may not kill, but fire will burn until nothing remained.</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck, that was bloody amazing." Miss Teasdale applauded, looking winded and shaken up. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, beating loudly in Jonathan's ears as he tucked his gun back on his hip. It was cumbersome compared to his pistol, but he was hoping to test out the new modifications on the weapon. He may have to fashion a better holster for it in the future, something more comfortable but it would make a useful tool against enemy vampires. Particularly ekons.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you alright, Miss?" He inquired as he searched the body for the key. It was quickly brandished as he spotted it into the gate and pulled it open.</p><p> </p><p>"Teasdale. Louise." She introduced, stepping unsteadily out of the makeshift prison. "And you are, sir?"</p><p> </p><p>"Dr. Jonathan Reid." He held a hand out in greeting.</p><p> </p><p>"A doctor? Do you always carry that kind of weaponry on you?" Her words were teasing but held a hint of understanding. She knew better than anyone how dangerous these streets were now.</p><p> </p><p>"Not until recently." Jonathan answered. "If I may inquire, Miss Teasdale?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hm?" She kicked the dead ekon with her faded shoes, the worn fabric of her dress flapping, filthy and stained. She looked pale, and colder than was considered safe. Jonathan removed his coat and scarf, carefully wrapping them around her to help her warm up. She looked startled before accepting the extra bit of warmth. "Thank you, Dr. Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"You're welcome. Come, we can talk on the way." He offered an arm to escort her which she gratefully accepted as he helped her up the rickety rusty ladder leading up to the ledge. There was a control room above them that led to a steep slope that headed out onto the main streets of the West End.</p><p> </p><p>"What can you tell me about the vampire who captured you?"</p><p> </p><p>"The little fucker claimed he had fallen in love with me, that he wanted to spend eternity with me….Not a bad idea, at least that's the way it seemed at first."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was startled, bewildered by the thought. "Really? Did you consider accepting his proposal?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well, immortality….not a common wedding gift, is it?!" She sighed in exasperation, tugging the coat further around herself to brace against the cold that slipped through the open bars of the sewer entrance. "I think he just wanted to have his way with me. Can vampires even fuck, doctor?"</p><p> </p><p>"What?" Jonathan blurted without thinking. Surely he misheard her but no, she looked serious. The thought was so farfetched and honestly, had slipped his mind entirely since all of this nightmare had begun. The rational scientific part of his mind snatched onto the idea as he considered it. "Hmm… Well… I..I really can't answer that..I-well.." He stumbled and huffed as his mind spun with wheels and cogs falling into place. </p><p> </p><p>"Since they are creatures of blood. Um, physically speaking. I suppose an erection is possible.  But...I..hmmm!" If he could blush, his face would be burning up right now which he was thankful for the lack of reaction. This was not the kind of conversation he expected to be having tonight, least of all with a young woman and in a sewer of all places. He pushed the gate open, holding it for Miss Teasdale to follow after him. </p><p> </p><p>Her spirits seemed to grow with his stuttering and flailing embarrassment as she laughed, a genuine sound that was light on the cold night air. The puffs of white clouds drifted from her lips, Reid's own were absent which he mildly noted and hoped she wouldn't notice as well.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't be embarrassed Dr. Reid." She giggled and placed a hand on his shoulder as he followed her out. It was teasing, as was the smile that glowed through her reddened cheeks. The nip of the wind bit at her exposed skin, reminding them both that they should quickly find shelter somewhere indoors. "I was just asking."</p><p> </p><p>"You have intrigued me now, to say the least." Jonathan commended as he started to escort her home. He didn't feel satisfied for her safety until she was tucked indoors away from the dangers that lurked these darkened streets. With his coat and scarf returned, and he was certain she was in good enough health and state of mind to be left alone, but not before he urged her to seek out medical attention should anything come up and that she should speak with the authorities about what happened. With that no longer on his mind, Jonathan made a swift return to Pembroke.</p><p>
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</p><p>To say Miss Teasdale's words had followed him home was an understatement. It was only when he finished cleaning up and serviced his weapon for the night at his workbench that he found he had nothing left to do before the sun rose. He sat by his desk and stared down at his research but that didn't seem to be what lured his attention away. Of course, his mind had settled on the idea of blood and the concept of its uses in this new life of his, but it wasn't rat or skal blood that came to mind. </p><p> </p><p>Half an hour of indecision later and he was seated on his cot, the door to his office locked and the lights shut off with only a single candle to illuminate the way his hand moved when touching himself. Damn it, he was curious now. Of course, this wasn't his first time servicing himself by hand. The long nights and hard shifts of the war had small quiet moments where he could relieve some tension and bleed off the stress that wound him up tighter than a spring.</p><p> </p><p>Doing it now as an ekon felt far different than it had in the past. For one, he was painfully aware of how cold his hands were against his own skin. The way his calloused fingers worked along his shaft as he stroked himself up. The heat that pool in his abdomen was familiar, that growing impulse of pleasure with every swipe of his thumb and probing touch of his index finger against the slit.</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes, trying to progress his arousal with helpful imagery. He tried to supplement it with anything that would steal his attention. It felt like a curse when the first face to come to mind was none other than Geoffrey McCullum. His imagination proceeded to paint a vivid picture as he was thrown back into that cell, his wrists chained up as he stroked himself, kneeling before the feet of the Hunter.</p><p> </p><p>He ground his teeth behind the snug fit muzzle and tossed his head back as Geoffrey's fingers buried into his hair, knotting it up in a tight grasp. The cold touch of his knife pressed dangerously against Jonathan's throat. A shiver of excitement spread with the growing tension. The pressure steadily built up with the pace of his palm as he gripped himself firmly. He could feel the phantom tip of that knife tracing the dip of his throat down towards his collarbone. Nails scraping across his scalp as his head was forced back with reckless abandon. </p><p> </p><p><em> "You'll be a good little leech for me, won't you?" </em> Jonathan both despised and loved those words. The devilish roll of syllables, the dark promise should he refuse to comply. It almost made him want to push the bounds and test Geoffrey's patience. It was humiliating, degrading even as Geoffrey pressed a boot against his crotch and forced his hand to still under the pressure. His hips rutted up, desperate for relief that wouldn't come. The denial felt good, even as Geoffrey pressed the knife tip against his skin, breaking through it in a calculated manner. Jonathan stifled a moan, swallowing it back as his mouth ran dry and his fangs ached.</p><p> </p><p><em> "You listen to me, Reid. Only me. You hear?" </em> He could only nod in compliance, a short bob of his head within McCullum's grasp. " <em> Good boy."  </em></p><p> </p><p>His fingers relinquished their hold on Jonathan's hair as they trailed down his face, his thumb stroked over the scar on his cheek. Those piercing blue eyes that bore into his soul claimed it for their own. The cocky smile that flashed teeth, deadly with a promise as he gripped Jonathan's jaw tightly and forced him to meet his gaze. <em> "Remember who owns you, leech." </em>His boot lessened the pressure until it drew away completely.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "Come for me, Reid. Be a good little leech and come for me." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The orgasm that ripped through Jonathan was stronger than anything he had ever experienced before. At least as far as he could recall. He didn't know if it was due to his affliction or simply a factor of time since he last let himself indulge. He resolved that it would require further testing in the future. <em> For science. </em></p><p> </p><p>He had to drag himself from his slumped position in his cot and force himself through the motions of cleaning up his mess. It was only when he shook the shreds of euphoria from his clouded and weary thoughts that the sudden rush of shame collided with him.</p><p> </p><p>McCullum was the enemy and yet, he was the first person that came to mind when Jonathan though about an ideal partner. He was aware that intrusive thoughts and harmless fantasies were a way of coping with stress and, in relation, trauma that one experienced but he hated what that said about him in the long run. Was he a masochist to find enjoyment in being in danger? He hadn't had that impulse when he served in the war. This odd revelation only surfaced at the hands of McCullum. Was it just specifically Geoffrey then? He assumed so, as he dried his hands and returned to his cot for the night. </p><p> </p><p>He tossed and turned with so many questions running amok in his brain. He was certain he should feel disgusted with himself over it but he just didn't feel that way. In some skewed fashion, the threat and fear Geoffrey instilled in Jonathan during his imprisonment had converted into something else entirely. He assumed it was an instinctive yet primal way of recognizing a challenge. Geoffrey was the wolf prowling at his door and Jonathan, a whole other breed of predator, saw that as potential. Now that he had his freedom and he wasn't so green anymore, he felt confident in his skills and his own abilities to fight Geoffrey off. But the truth of the matter was, did he want to? Or was submission something he craved through all the insanity and chaos that had become his life.</p><p> </p><p>These thoughts continued to dance around his mind as the sun began to rise and he submerged into the velvety folds of sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Inheritance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To say he was troubled by his recent thoughts was an understatement. Jonathan was distracted as his mind raced, twisting and turning doubt as he started to dissect it apart in an attempt to figure out what exactly stirred these feelings inside him. He hadn’t noticed he was drifting off in thought, one elbow propped up on the reception desk as he glared holes into a clipboard. His fangs chewing into the body of a pen, leaving deep gouging scratches into it. He was disturbed by the sound of Branagan clearing her voice very pointedly by his side, hands folded carefully in front of her as she narrowed her eyes at him, staring down the bridge of her nose.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan jerked in surprise, his head snapped up, startled. “Dr. Reid, if you’re going to sulk, maybe it would be better to do so in private. We are trying to run a hospital here.” She said sternly.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan’s grip tightened on the pen until it creaked in protest, threatening to break under the pressure until he forced himself to relax. He dropped it on the clipboard and smoothed out the wrinkled front of his lab coat, pausing mid stroke as he sighed. “My apologies, Nurse Branagan. I’ve got a lot on my mind and it seemed to have slipped my attention.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you are not the only one Dr. Reid. Do try to be more aware of your surroundings.” It was hard not to grimace at her scolding demeanor. When she turned her back to him, he rolled his eyes and retrieved the pen, placing it back into his front pocket. He checked over the clipboard and noticed he had signed off on the document some time ago before he spaced out. It was uncharacteristic of him to do so, but he doubted he could excuse the slip up now. Branagan continued to stalk about the hall, eyeing him from across the lobby as if he were up to no good.</p><p> </p><p>In all honesty, it made him feel like an ill-mannered child at a social function. A sense he did not appreciate in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan scrubbed a palm over his face as he slid the clipboard behind the desk and elected to do some work in his office for the evening. He opted that the peace and quiet would benefit him in the long run. He hung his lab coat by the door, allowing his hand to linger a moment before he stalked inside.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes dragged across the room with a weary glance before it fell on the dusty tin that he left on his desk the night before. “Oh, I forgot about you.” Jonathan sighed, a heavy exhale of disappointment with himself. He didn’t exactly dread opening the container, especially given that it was the last words of his father that had directed him to find it. Of course he was eager for answers, but the small boy inside him was apprehensive to find out what could have made Aubrey Reid leave without a single word towards his family. What was so terrible that he had to conceal it?</p><p> </p><p>He slid into his chair and sank down onto the faded leather cushion as he carefully pried open the tin. It was rusted shut, causing him quite a bit of effort to make it give. A little help from his claws and it popped open, but not before his own hand struck himself in the nose for his troubles. He grimaced and hissed through his teeth as the stinging discomfort lingered a few seconds before fading. He shook his head and examined the contents of the tin.</p><p> </p><p>Tucked inside was a neatly folded letter, addressed to Jonathan just as the last with a small key tucked inside a little leather pouch. His father spoke of his kind heart and his compassion. Of his passion for the medical field and helping people. Of how proud Aubrey and Emelyne were of him when he declared his future career and how hard he worked to achieve it. It also spoke of how soft he was, how delicate of a soul he held within. How easily disappointed and discouraged he was when failure loomed over him.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan understood, he was a young man back then. Barely grown out of being a boy, with starry eyed aspirations and brightly colored views of the world. That was before he witnessed the truth, that the world was cruel and mankind was the worst of it. Before he experienced the hell and horrors of war. Before he felt the blood of a man’s life pumping through his fingers as he juggled bandages and sutures, trying to close the wounds before his veins ran empty. Before he witnessed the whites of a man’s eyes as he succumbed to shock or the ghastly burns that covered the faces of young men barely old enough to leave home, subjected to gas and flames.</p><p> </p><p>That was before the old Jonathan died on that battlefield, and what remained was dumped into the mass grave of Southwark. That was before he became <em> this. </em>A shadow of his former self, walking the boundary lines between life and death. A cruel joke that shattered everything he believed in and everything he knew up until that point.</p><p> </p><p>It was those thoughts that made him grateful that his father wasn’t here. He didn’t have to see the monstrosity his beloved son had become, feasting on filthy vermin just to make it through the days and avoid ripping the jugular out of some unfortunate patient too sick to even lift a hand in self defense. So far, he stayed his claws from the flesh of innocents but for how long? Will he be able to ensure that in the future?</p><p> </p><p>Every ekon he’s met has been utterly and completely insane. Jonathan had noticed the malice in their gazes, the twisted and vile pleasure they derived from killing. The vitriol as they regarded other ekons as if they were predators fighting over territory. Was that madness just another facet of his condition? Would he succumb to the song it sung so wickedly in his ears every time he caught a whiff of even the smallest drop of blood?</p><p> </p><p>How long will he maintain his promise to Mary before he gives in? He swore she would be the last to fall at his fangs, but he was only so strong. He had eternity to endure this hell. An eternity to slip up, to make mistakes, to give in to the urges and turn the streets into a bloodbath. Would his humanity hold out? How long until his mind begins to break down, a hundred years? Two hundred? Maybe if he was lucky. The human brain wasn’t meant for that kind of life. It was prone to forgetting, like his mother. Like Enid Gillingham. It has physical limitations just as all living creatures do. When will instinct overcome sanity?</p><p> </p><p>He supposed he could run away and lock himself up in some far flung lair like some monster in a horror novel. He doubted that would slow the progress. Isolation may only further the damage.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan sighed, shaking his head as his thoughts rambled incoherently, jumping from one track to the next without his permission. He adjusted the letter in his grasp, took a deep breath out of habit and forced them to calm and focus. He needed to focus. He knew he was too tired to do so and cabin fever was making it hard to stay indoors this evening, but he had to discipline himself for now. He adjusted the candle on his desk to better read the lower half of the letter, picking up where he left off.</p><p> </p><p>It came as a shock to him as he read the carefully scrawled words of Aubrey Reid. The truth of a dying man. A man just as scared of what was happening to him as Jonathan was for himself. Their afflictions were vastly different but the end result was far from pleasant. “This is why you left? Why didn’t you tell me?" He suddenly had so many questions, but the following words directed him to a final letter and the hidden prize.</p><p> </p><p>“Southwark. The place where I left for France as an eminent surgeon and returned only to die and be reborn.” He checked his pocket watch for the time and decided he had more than enough to spare before dawn. The night was early and if he did this right, he could fit in a few house calls on the way. He was sure the Turtle would be full of wayward patrons seeking shelter and warmth in the bitter cold.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan was correct in his assumption as he passed through the docks on the way to Southwark. Dodging Priwen patrols aside (including one with a specific pair of troublemakers), Jonathan found the Turquoise Turtle was just as lively as he expected. Most patrons were drinking away their troubles, some in grief, some to dull their pain, some just because they had nothing else to do and the world was shit.</p><p> </p><p>He found Rufus tucked into a booth attempting to warm himself up while Miss Cavendish flitted from one table to the next, clearing empty bottles and glasses, replacing them with fresh rounds as dockers, factory workers and Wet Boot Boys alike filled out the benches and seats. The floors were caked with grime, the snow tracked in melted and made for a slippery entry. He caught a drunkard that was too unsteady on his feet as is, preventing him from kissing the door frame with what teeth he had left in his head. When he steadied the man, Jonathan patted his shoulder and proceeded to check in with Tom.</p><p> </p><p>"Nice catch there Dr. Reid!" The barman commended, gesturing with a smile towards Jonathan. He returned it with a polite one of his own, though it was tired and strained. It took far more effort navigating the streets now than he anticipated. Between Priwen and the dreadful weather, it was too easy to tumble using his abilities and take a nasty unintentional spill that could land him in the sights of an overly eager guard. Enough recruits were too trigger happy for his liking</p><p> </p><p>"Good evening Tom." Jonathan greeted.</p><p> </p><p>"Would you like a drink?"</p><p> </p><p>"No thank you, I'm working tonight." Jonathan spoke just loud enough to be heard over the din of the pub.</p><p> </p><p>"You're always working, Dr. Reid. Ya ever take a night off?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you, Mr. Watts?" Jonathan countered coolly.</p><p> </p><p>"Fair enough, Doc. You made yer point." Tom nodded over Jonathan's shoulder at a departing patron that called his name as he opened a bottle and slid it down the counter to Dyson. The drunk was slouched against the polished wood, one hand raised lazily to accept it as if it were another burden to his troubles.</p><p> </p><p>"Dr. Reid." Miss Cavendish cheered as she carried the empty bottles around behind the bar to be deposited in an old crate. "How have you been doing, sir?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I assure you, Miss Cavendish. How is your hand?" Jonathan shifted out of the path of a docker as they stumbled off their barstool. There was a momentary concern that the man would lose his guts right there in the middle of the bar but he had enough sense to shuffle outside first.</p><p> </p><p>"Still a little sore, but I'm doing fine." She held her hand up for Jonathan to see the old yellowed bruising in tiny lingering splotches. He hummed pleasantly, nodding his approval.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm pleased to see that. Do continue to be careful, though."</p><p> </p><p>"Aye, Dr. Reid. I will keep an eye out for her." Tom interjected.</p><p> </p><p>"As you always do Tom, but don't forget to care for yourself as well. Without this little haven you've erected, these poor people will have nowhere to go." Jonathan reminded, earning a fond laugh from the barman. They both smiled cheerfully as Jonathan made his rounds checking on the regulars he managed to spot in the booths and tables. At one point, a few sailors started singing a shanty, belting out crude notes as they raised their pints and lollygagged all over each other. Rufus listened with starry eyed delight, drinking in every story and tale the men spoke around him. Jonathan even caught the youth humming under the revelry, his fingers tapping at the counter in tune.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan left the pub, stopping in to check on Mrs. Fishburn along the way. He caught Seymour sulking along the water's edge as per usual though his typical scowl appeared frozen to his face tonight. He didn't even notice Jonathan when he passed by as he glared into the shadowy depths of the water below. As if his rage could contend with that of the sea and its bitterness.</p><p> </p><p>Southwark was eerily quiet, more so than per usual. He didn't like traveling this far out unless he absolutely had to, often avoiding the mass graves since the last time he came by at Edwina's request and found the corpses of what remained of the grave robbers. Along with it, he found the gold pocket watch his father gave him before he left for France, his wallet and the dog tags from his service. He supposed the men died soon after disposing of his corpse, and were heaped among the bodies just as they had done to him.</p><p> </p><p>He also avoided the building he found shelter in. It was hard to recall, but when he came back to find the memorial for Dyson, he had stumbled upon the blood stained bed that McCullum and his men had found him on. The bullet from his attempted suicide remained lodged into the mattress. Jonathan wasn't certain what drove him to keep the spent round, tucking it into a little wooden box along with his dog tags, medals and various other trinkets he had found and kept along the way. He supposed he was sentimental. Each piece linked to a strong memory that he couldn't let go of. Even before the war, he had the habit. The need to cling to items of value. Even the little baubles his father left as hidden prizes or the dried pressed flowers his sister would give him when they were children. Old books, rings, necklaces, tiny charms, drawings and letters. All of it had a place that he kept tucked away for the future.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe one day it would help him through eternity, when all the memories and people that partook in them were long gone. When their bones returned to the earth, he would keep these relics of their lives, little shards of life still imbued in each and every piece. He supposed it would be a good way to count time as the years passed him by.</p><p> </p><p>Finding the location proved harder than the last but with some careful recollection, he managed to find the painted mark. This time around, it was on the door of an abandoned building. A quick once over and Jonathan recalled it to be the home of one of Aubrey's old business colleagues. They worked the docks, handling the paperwork for shipments passing in and out of port day and night. Inside the home, he found a safe that was scratched and banged up by looters, but still locked and intact. The key fit perfectly, the click of the lock and a quick turn of the handle and Jonathan found the final note and his father's watch, engraved with his name on the back.</p><p> </p><p>He tucked both into his pocket and made haste to leave. He heard the distant shrill screams of Skals along the water's edge and the echoing shouts of Priwen guards preparing for a fight. The sooner he got away from here, the better.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Revisiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan visits his mother and does some Christmas shopping.</p><p> </p><p>This is after The Priwen Chronicles chapter 15 Sweets and Treats.</p><p>Please read that before reading this to understand what went on.</p>
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    <p>“What’s that?” Jonathan asked quietly, peering over the reception desk where a box held a bundle of different colored fabrics in the process of being stitched together. The ekon spied a sewing kit as well, and sets of thicker white thread, far sturdier than what would be used for clothing. His gaze peeled up to meet Nurse Finch’s slight smile as she spoke, in between signing off on a document she had laid before her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m making Christmas quilts.” She explained.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan cupped his hand under his jaw as he regarded her with a critical eye, having just noticed the pale spots on her fingertips where it was worn by hours of needle work. He hummed, a deep rumbling sound in his throat. “Is it for a charity, like Mr. Hampton’s Night Asylum?”</p><p> </p><p>“Something like that.” She nodded. “Most of the men are soldiers with no place to go. Some are just immigrants struggling to get by.” Jonathan was well aware of the trials and tribulations many of the people in the poorer neighborhoods faced. The Night Asylum could only offer so much for the people who needed it most; medical care, clothing, food. It was all so terrible. Even here, looking at the huddled masses collected on the beds and in the corners of their waiting rooms, it was easy to spot the downtrodden and those who had given up hope. This war, and this epidemic had taken away so much from everyone. There was rarely a soul who wasn’t affected in some way by it all.</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Christmas isn’t that far away. Do you have a number that you’re trying to reach? Some goal in mind?” Color him curious now.</p><p> </p><p>Nurse Finch flipped the documents over as she signed them, then neatly organized the stack before tucking it inside a manila folder. “I was told there are twenty men but I’ve only completed seven so far. Ms. Howcroft has been helping but the work is slow and I only have recycled fabric so I don’t think I’ll be able to make enough.” She gestured towards the corner cots where Thelma was lurking. She tilted her head, her dark hair bobbing as she smiled and wagged her fingers in a meek wave. Jonathan smiled, mindful to keep his fangs tucked out of view as he did so.</p><p> </p><p>“You have quite a substantial amount of work ahead of you, Nurse Finch.” Jonathan observed. He didn’t know how she was ever going to get it all done on time. He commended her efforts nonetheless. “I wish you good luck.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” She called.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jonathan had taken a leisurely stroll through his hospital rounds, checking in on his regular patients, prescribing cold medicine and headache relief to the masses, before slipping away to his usual business in his office. For once the weather was holding up, permitting him a chance to roam the streets. After the snow storm the previous night, he was kept indoors. Which wasn’t a problem per se, since he did get a considerable amount of work finished that he’d been holding off on. On the other hand, he felt like he was under his colleague’s feet as they bumped into each other and scowled over documents. Strickland had slipped in the hallway when one patient stomped clumps of snow through the hall which then melted. </p><p> </p><p>Ackroyd thought it was amusing until he dropped his papers by the reception desk and they were ruined by all the slush and water that puddled. Jonathan stifled the snicker in his throat as he assumed Ackroyd glared, whether it be to burn a hole into the documents or a vain hope that it would dry them faster, he couldn’t tell. It was amusing nonetheless.</p><p>
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</p><p>The bitter cold aside, Jonathan considered it a rather beautiful night. The sky was blanketed with thick grey clouds that peppered fat flakes down upon the city. It fell in slow dances drifting back and forth in gentle sways, caught on mischievous breezes that tousled through his hair.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan admired the evening as he cut through Whitechapel and made his way towards the West End. With the bad weather, most people remained tucked indoors where it was warm. The obviously sane decision. He still had to skirt around Priwen patrols but that was a trifle in comparison to the usual. It would appear they either thinned out or McCullum was smart about exposing his men to the poor conditions for too long. He supposed they may be rotating in short shifts throughout the night, heeding their own mortality in the face of nature’s unrelenting wrath.</p><p> </p><p>It was a quiet stroll once he crossed the threshold of the West End, moving deeper in the silence. The closer he got to the Temple Garden Plaza, the more activity he saw as families wandered the streets, admiring the lights strung across the fences of the park. Last minute shoppers popped into the stores to peruse and pick up gifts for Christmas parties and gatherings. Bottles of wine, exquisite chocolates and fancy garments passed in and out of the shops in carefully wrapped parcels and packages.</p><p> </p><p>Among the crowd, Jonathan recognized a familiar hat bobbing along the edges, notepad in hand as his eyes searched the passing people through his foggy glasses. Between the cold wind and the heat of the bodies packed into the Plaza, many of the shop fronts had taken on a frosty appearance in their windows that seemed oddly festive. </p><p> </p><p>“Inspector Albright.” Jonathan greeted in his approach, tipping his head in a brief nod when their eyes met.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Dr. Jonathan Reid. Fancy meeting you here.” He tucked his notepad into his front pocket as he returned a carefully schooled smile. “What brings you out this late? Doing rounds again?”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, I was thinking of doing some shopping before visiting my mother.” Jonathan hummed, stepped close to the side of the building so the pair weren’t interrupting the flow of patrons in and out of the shops. The people scurried back and forth, children cheering as they hung on their mother’s arms, pointing at the decorations as they talked about the gifts they were going to give to loved ones.</p><p> </p><p>“Your mother? How is she doing, if you don’t mind my asking.” Inspector Albright’s words softened.</p><p> </p><p>“She is sick.” Jonathan admitted with a sigh. “The years have not been kind to her, I’m afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>“My apologies, Dr. Reid.” Inspector Albright shifted at his side. “I assume you’re caring for her.”</p><p> </p><p>“When I can. With the epidemic, I’m concerned about her safety. I’m exposed to the worst of it, mind you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” Jonathan heard him add under the sudden noise as a group passed by, bundled up in their best to ward off the wintry chill.</p><p> </p><p>“How is your investigation coming along?” Jonathan directed the conversation to something far more pleasant than his own life. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact he was a bad son or that he was insufficient in caring for his own family.</p><p> </p><p>“Good now. Both missing persons have been recovered, one with your assistance I heard. Miss Teasdale had quite a bit to tell about that experience.” Inspector Albright’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Our boys managed to help her retrieve her father’s corpse so that he can be properly buried. You are a hero, Dr. Reid.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was just trying to help someone in need.” Jonathan’s lips dipped into a sincere smile. “You said both missing persons’ were recovered?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Tadao Kimura was rescued shortly after we spoke. A group of good samaritans found him one night. The kidnapper had him imprisoned in an abandoned storefront.” Inspector Albright waved dismissively. “Nearby here actually.” His gaze lifted to resume their search of the crowd as if the aforementioned suspect would appear from thin air to be arrested for the crimes.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s good to hear.” Jonathan smiled. “Safe and sound in time for Christmas. It sounds like a miracle.” It came teasing as Albright rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed, Dr. Reid.” He chuckled. “Speaking of, I better not keep you from your shopping. Wouldn’t want to upset Mrs. Reid.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right. Thank you for speaking with me, Inspector Albright. I’m glad to hear there was a happy ending for your investigation after all.” They both nodded, a quiet departure as they split up. Albright continued to lurk along the edges of the Plaza, while Jonathan moved deeper in, joining the crowds as they migrated in and out of the shops like scattered schools of fish all searching for some great prize.</p><p> </p><p>He found himself drawn to the fabric store when a vibrant red bolt of fabric stole his attention. It was soft under his fingers as he admired the vivid coloring. It joined the rows of other equally as enticing colors, soft, sturdy and pleasing to the eye. He couldn’t help but recall his earlier conversation with Nurse Finch. He was only going to pick out one or two bolts and call it an evening, but Jonathan was never a man of particularly strong will when it came to indulging and well, they all looked very nice. He felt Nurse Finch would appreciate it. As well as the soldiers she was making them for. He was well aware that he most definitely would have when working in the tents. Even in the Summer months, something to wrap around yourself was a pleasing comfort that satisfied that primal need that accompanied fearing for your life 24/7.</p><p> </p><p>He may have gone overboard, he will admit that, when he walked out of the store with not one, not two, but six full bolts of fabric bundled up and tucked in his arms. Along with a new scarf and pair of gloves for his mother, balanced precariously on top of it all.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily the walk to his home wasn’t very far and he was able to deposit the stack of fabrics carefully by the front door during his visit.</p><p> </p><p>“Jonathan?” Emelyne’s voice rose to greet him as she shuffled out of the parlor, curious to see what the noise was when her son entered.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening, mother.” He called, catching one of the bolts before it fell and adjusting it securely back on the table. He smiled, stepping towards her to greet her with a kiss on her cheek. She braced her hands on his forearms as she pulled him into a hug. “How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m doing fine, darling. What are you doing?” She inquired, a sudden spark of recognition in her eyes, accompanied by the shy glint of mischief that Jonathan hadn’t seen in quite a long time. He followed her gaze as it lingered on the fabric.</p><p> </p><p>If he could blush, he would be right this moment, but the only red that rose on his face was from the brunt of the wind whipping relentlessly against it. “Oh, that is for one of the Nurses at the hospital. She’s making quilts for homeless veterans I believe.” He added quickly. “I thought I could offer some assistance to her efforts as a show of appreciation.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is she pretty?” Emelyne asked. “Would she give me good grandchildren?”</p><p> </p><p>Okay, yeah, it's a good thing he couldn’t blush. “Mother!” Jonathan scolded, but it was light hearted. He couldn’t hide the smile that spread on his face as she gently patted his cheek and smiled back. “She is my colleague, mother and I have a suspicion she’s already being courted by another.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about the other nurses? Any grandchildren will do, Jonathan.” Her voice was sing song as she turned and laughed, a girlish sound in her throat as she beckoned him into the parlor where she had been enjoying tea.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was astonished by the display, trailing after her with a question on his lips and a thousand suspicions dancing in his eyes. “Are you truly feeling alright, mother?” He asked. It wasn’t that he was concerned by this new behavior, she was <em> lively </em>and more like herself. Like the woman he remembered before his father left. But something had to trigger this new behavior, something had to lure her out of the decrepit shell she had been trapped in since Mary played with her head.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan startled when he entered the parlor to find the bright vibrant bouquet sitting on the table beside her seat. A sketch pad rested beside it where she had been drawing the soft petals and the array of colors. Several pages were strewn about, with one or two flowers drawn from the vase, one lying by itself as she drew the stem and bloom, another she had plucked the petals apart to litter around it for a dramatic edge to the image. She hummed pleasantly but Jonathan’s concerns grew when he felt uneasy in the plant’s presence.</p><p> </p><p>Part of him wondered if this was like the lesson McCullum had taught him, how certain living plants would repulse his monstrous nature and make him feel uneasy and skittish. He took a seat in the arm chair, furthest away from the flowers and the strong fragrance that filled his nostrils with every breath. It wasn’t unpleasant but to his heightened senses, it was sickly sweet and left a bitter after aroma that clung to his tongue. A cloying scent overall.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m feeling wonderful darling. Do thank your friends for visiting me. I had so much fun.” She chimed as she lifted the porcelain with a shaky hand to her lips, sipping at her tea as she smiled over the rim.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you mean Clarence and Venus Crossley?” He inquired, cautiously skirting around the idea that she was now forgetting his close lifelong friends.</p><p> </p><p>“No dear.” She set the cup down and waved flippantly. “The ones you met during the war. Mr. Babic and Mr. Bonner.” She cheered. “Such charming young men. You should have introduced them to me ages ago, Jonathan.” She carried that scolding tone of disappointment only a mother could wield. It was the sharpened blade poised at Jonathan’s throat when he realized who it was exactly that had entered his home <em> and had tea with his mother.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Did they do anything…..<em> untoward </em>to you mother?” He had to ask, the sudden bolt of paranoia worming into his chest as he looked around the room suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p>“Nonsense Jonathan. They brought me truffles and these beautiful flowers. I haven’t had good french chocolates in so long, Jonathan. It made me think we really should go on that family vacation this Summer. Mary can bring the little one.”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan’s concerns only grew, mutating into shame and guilt while his mother explained all they talked about and how much she enjoyed their company. She thought Mr. Bonner was incredibly charming and Mr. Babic was sweet, with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. She mentioned how she would love to paint them one day, but her hands weren’t as steady as they used to be. The more she talked, Jonathan realized she still slipped into her moments, but her energy remained upbeat and pleasant.</p><p> </p><p>After an hour, he had given her the gift he bought then helped her up the stairs to her room where she retired for the night. His face ached with the solemn smile he had held for so long, trying to hide the pain that wilted in his chest, gnarled by thorns that felt as if they were piercing his lungs, coiling up to strangle his undead heart in a vice. It still hurt, even now. It ached, a dull and unrelenting pain that he couldn’t ignore.</p><p> </p><p>When Avery came to greet him properly, he had nothing but good things to say regarding the visit. “Mister Jonathan, you should have seen her laugh. It was as if she were a young woman again. I haven’t heard her laugh like that since your Father left.” They both shared a pained sigh at that. The thought reminded Jonathan as he dug into his pocket and retrieved the watch Aubrey had left to him in Southwark.</p><p> </p><p>“Here Avery. This was my father’s watch. That letter you gave to me led me to some of his old things. I think he would have wanted you to have it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mister Jonathan? I couldn’t possibly sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Avery. Consider it a gift from me. Thank you so much for taking care of my mother.” He patted Avery on the shoulder, a tiny smile graced his lips as he nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you sir.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, Priwen saved Mr. Kimura</p><p>They get around.</p><p>Jonathan is still a sad little leech.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Christmas At Pembroke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This comes before Chapter 16 of The Priwen Chronicles.</p><p>Christmas Eve in London from Jonathan's perspective.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What’s this?” Jonathan very nearly stumbled as he left his office for the evening. The night was cheery already with festive greetings echoing up from the lower floor as Christmas was upon them all. It had really snuck up on him in the past week, though, he had to admit, he had been crowded into his office the entire time. He barely noticed when Nurse Hawkins strung tinsel through the banisters on the stairs and situated big fat red ribbons every few steps.</p><p> </p><p>There was a tree in the back by the side reception desk and a smaller fake tree that had been made of recycled materials and had tiny paper wishes tied to the branches. Beside it was a basket full of peppermint candies that Jonathan had picked up on his way back from his rounds a few nights ago. There was a tiny german candy shop he had noticed before but never had the opportunity to explore. He was thrilled to meet the kind Mrs. Bernhardt who worked to make every confectioner and sweet in her humble business.</p><p> </p><p>At the moment, his concern regarded the strange box that sat at the entrance of his office. It was a repurposed medical container, the label hastily crossed out with paint with his name scrawled in delicate but familiar lettering across the top. A tiny painted bow sat atop it.</p><p> </p><p>He collected the makeshift gift and returned to his desk, shimmying the lid off the top as he examined the contents. First and foremost, there was a small bag of what smelled like peanut butter cookies. Beside it was a pair of woolen socks, thick for the winter cold. His lips pulled up into a grin as he rubbed his fingers over the soft blue material of what lay beneath and took up most of the space inside the container. He carefully unfolded the lovingly stitched blanket in different shades and patterns of blue, including a few swatches of the blue plaid fabric he had delivered to her over a week ago.</p><p> </p><p>He snapped it open over his bed and admired the length as it settled, thick and heavy against the mattress. Jonathan was aware he hadn’t stopped smiling like an idiot as he swiped his palm over the fabric. It wasn’t like he needed it anymore, given his current affliction but he appreciated it better than any other gift that could be bought. He spent several minutes admiring the item, even settling onto the bed as he gently tugged at the fabric and imagined what it would have been like to receive the gift when he was still human. How warm it would feel, the comfort of the weight as it draped over his shoulders while he worked long hours at his desk. The way it would sooth his shivering when the draft became too much and he was curled into a tight ball on his cot, tucking every corner and edge around himself like a small child.</p><p> </p><p>It was a shame, how the little details of mortality made him feel so lost. How he missed the bite of the wind on his face, the cold sniffling of a dripping nose after being exposed to the harsh elements. The frozen tips of his fingers turned numb, slowly thawing with pins and needles, then tingling as he warmed them over a fire. The taste of warm tea pooling over his tongue, the sensation of soft fabrics bundled around him as he heads out to meet with friends for what he would anticipate to be a delectable dinner, prepared with careful hands.</p><p> </p><p>He sat there on his bed for a very long time, reminiscing, remembering what it was like to <em> live. </em> And how cruel it was now to just <em> exist </em> in the absence of so much. He balled his fingers up into the fabric and tucked it close to his chest as he sighed, a hopeless breath that didn’t silence the sting in his chest or the pain behind his eyes. He blinked quickly to avoid shedding bloody tears on his gift, relinquishing his hold as he smoothed it out over the bed once more. He set the box beneath his desk, put on the new pair of socks which cushioned his feet better than his faded and worn ones and tucked the bag of cookies into his coat pocket as he prepared to go out for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>Edgar had informed him that their generous benefactor had put on a lovely meal for all the patients and staff, allowing everyone to enjoy a taste of comfort on the long Christmas eve night. Some of the patients and a few of the nurses helped make homemade decorations and placed a few holiday flowers in choice locations to brighten up the cheer. During the last two weeks, after a terse conversation with both Ackroyd and Strickland after <em> another </em>argument broke out in their office. He could hear it through the thin walls, causing him to barge into their office and put an end to their bickering once and for all. They put their differences aside and came to a final conclusion involving Mr. Harvey Fiddick’s case, performed the appropriate surgery on his arm and sent him home in time to spend Christmas with his kids.</p><p> </p><p>As he navigated the first floor on his way out, he spotted that Mr. Elwood had received an early gift from Miss Howcroft in a poorly wrapped paper package. A green, blue and black patchwork quilt of various patterns that didn’t exactly go together but she made it look pleasant nonetheless, settled over his bed as the man fawned over the gift. Miss Howcroft herself had made a red and black cloak, it was thin with purple ribbons sewn into the hem, a proud accomplishment she recalled from learning years ago, now tied over her shoulders. She twirled and danced with Mr. Elwood as they sang a Christmas song together. Mr. Elwood didn’t look like he was doing much more than an awkward shuffle but Miss Howcroft made up for it in enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>He made a quick cycle through the rooms, checking in on his patients with a smile and a parting praise before disappearing out the front gates of the Hospital. He had a formal invitation from Joe Peterson, more specifically young Harry Peterson who had been adamant to invite Jonathan to Christmas Mass with them. Jonathan was not a religious man in any form, but he remembered attending church with his parents at the determination of his mother. Him and Mary dressed in their best, shined up and looked cheery despite the early hour and their own desire to be doing anything other than sitting in the uncomfortable wooden pews. Back then, he had fussed and tried to wiggle out of the practice, not just when he was a small boy but also as a young man.</p><p> </p><p>It felt strange that only when he’s lost his humanity, did he find his way to these foreboding steps of the St Mary’s Church. Joe Peterson looked like a respectable fellow, and not the Wet Boot Boy enforcer he charged about Whitechapel as. Barret Lewis accompanied them, looking none too pleased as they entered the church together. Harry grinned up at Jonathan, taking the doctor by the arm as he led him inside, talking softly in praise and delight that he had made it in time for the service.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was suspicious of his ability to cross the threshold of a holy building, especially when crosses stunned him and caused him deep harm. Maybe it was the given invitation by one so pure that allowed him admittance as ridiculous as that sounded. But with Harry’s eager grip on his arm, he stepped through the door without bursting into flames or being forced back out by an unseen deity. Harry was called over by Joe as they approached the front of the church. Jonathan chose to keep his distance from the holy fixtures and lingered at the back, his hands folded in front of himself. Stella Fishburn and Seymour trudged through the door next, Seymour looked sour as per usual. Behind them Rufus Kingsberry trailed, a good distance behind Seymour but smiling and shy nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan beckoned the young boy over towards his corner and gave him the package of cookies. Rufus’ face lit up as he thanked Jonathan repeatedly before wandering off to find his seat near Mrs. Fishburn. The smile never quite faded from his face as he tucked them into his pocket. Cristina and Clayton both entered together but acted as if that was purely coincidence. Just as they sat within arm’s length from each other on the pew, once again refusing to meet each other’s gaze as if it wasn’t obvious.</p><p> </p><p>Cadogan Bates entered, which surprised Jonathan more than his own unholy admittance. If anyone was expected to combust on the spot, surely it would have been Mr. Bates. At least Jonathan was invited by a pure mortal soul. Darius Petrescu entered by himself, his fingers worrying the hat he wore as he shuffled inside the room and spotted the pews by Cristina. Cadogan sneered when he spotted the man, turning the other way as he continued to scowl at the surroundings. Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure why he came but maybe there was still something worth saving there after all. Maybe. It might be incredibly tiny. Just a sliver of hope. It was Christmas Eve, he’s feeling generous for the night.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan noticed that three sets of pews at the back had been untouched by the passersby as if on purpose. He glanced at them for a moment but didn’t find any seat holders placed on the benches. The people seemed to avoid them automatically.</p><p> </p><p>He tilted his head, brows furrowed when he heard the front doors open once more and the quiet chatter of a large group of men fall silent. He glanced back to inspect who it was this time, when his eyes met none other than Geoffrey McCullum’s. The hunter looked just as surprised, his critical scan of the room faltered when he saw Jonathan, both eyes going wider when he realized that yes, that was the doctor standing in the corner. His mouth crooked as if he was about to ask, but thought better of it. He proceeded to hold the door open as a large group of men walked in, dressed in their Sunday best, polished up and some clean shaven. They each took their hats off, kicked the snow off their boots and bowed their heads as they filed into the empty rows Jonathan had been questioning.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan recognized recruits McKinley and Mackintosh in the middle of what he remembered were priwen Chaplains. He was surprised to see Vincent stop at the door, trailing up the end of the group as he scowled at McCullum. Jonathan’s enhanced hearing allowed him to eavesdrop on the conversation and satisfy his everlasting hunger for gossip of all kinds.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do I have to come? I’m not religious.” Vincent complained.</p><p> </p><p>McCullum rolled his eyes as if this wasn’t the first time the sniper had brought this argument up. “Because O’Connor isn’t home and Babic isn’t here to babysit ya.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can take care of myself.” Vincent huffed, hunching his shoulders up as he scowled at the pews.</p><p> </p><p>“Last time you said that, Johnson found you passed out in your own blood.” The Priwen leader swatted him on the back of his shoulders and shoved him towards the pews where McKinley and Mackintosh had settled into. “Shut up and behave.”</p><p> </p><p>The hunter followed him in as the last of his men entered, allowing them to close the doors and tuck into the end of the pews, his eyes scanned over his men, as if he were doing a mental head count before his attention darted back towards Jonathan. Geoffrey’s arms were folded over his chest as he watched the doctor with a scrutinizing gaze. Those questions still lingered in his eyes but Jonathan was thankfully too far away to be assaulted by them. And by another gracious coincidence, Vicar Larrabee approached to begin the service.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn’t stay long. The fact that there were roughly two dozen Priwen members tucked into the pews in front of him only made him more uncomfortable with the idea. Even more so than standing inside a church did. He decided to extend his apology and appreciation for the invite to young Harry the next time he saw him, and opted to silently slip out the back door when the opportunity arose and everyone started to pray.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan felt more at ease once he was out on the street breathing the cold night air into his lungs and relishing in the peace and quiet it offered. A sparse few occupants of Whitechapel still roamed the streets, allowing him a chance to distract himself, pausing to purchase a poinsettia from Camellia’s shop, careful not to touch it directly as he headed for Stonebridge Cemetery.</p><p> </p><p>It was a rare sight to enter the location and not be besieged by Priwen or the rare rogue skal or two lurking on the edges, digging at the graves for an easy meal or an unwary soul that wandered the rows late in the evenings. It didn’t take long for him to find Mary’s newest grave. He had spent hours digging it, and broke three shovels in the process trying to get through the frozen earth. He placed the flowers at the base of her new headstone, which replaced the old broken cross.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m still working on that promise.” He started, his voice was deafening in his own ears in the silence of the cemetery with nothing but the dead to keep them company. He cleared a palm over the top of her headstone, dusting the snow that accumulated off of the cold surface. His fingers outlined her name as he crouched down at its side.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good brother to you. I’ve been a poor excuse of a son to mother, even before I died. I let you both down.” He inhaled sharply, stirring the powdery flakes around him as he breathed out. He laughed, a dry and pained sound that was tight in his chest. “I turned out like father. I abandoned you when you needed me most because I didn’t want you to see what I’d become.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence dragged on for a minute as Jonathan mulled over the thoughts that danced across his mind. Many were bitter, but his sister didn’t deserve such gloom now. He sighed, shook his head and opted for something more positive. “Do you remember when Father would take us to see the lights in Temple Gate Park? He had hid little presents in the gazebo at the end of the park and gave us riddles that led us to them. We had to work together to decipher them.” he smiled to himself, at the bright eyed little girl that called his name with so much excitement in her voice. Her cheeks were beat red from the cold as she huddled into her scarf and held up the next set of clues with triumph. She read them aloud while he listened, his mind already working the gears along as they raced along the paths to the next clue. Aubrey and Emelyne Reid strolled casually behind them, enjoying the sights as they talked, arm in arm like the picture of ageless romance.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even remember what was in the boxes when we found them. I just remember how much fun we had trying to find them.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as his eyes stung once more with that determined pain that alluded towards tears. He forced it off, swallowing thickly around the ball that swelled in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Lovely story.” The voice rolled like smooth whiskey as boots crunched the snow. Jonathan didn’t need to look to recognize the leisurely approach of the hunter and his easy going sway, like a panther lurking through the grass, eyeing up easy prey. “Your sister?”</p><p> </p><p>The question came gently, something that Jonathan hadn’t anticipated. A strange note of sympathy as the doctor nodded. “Yes. My Mary.”</p><p> </p><p>"I lost my older brother, Ian, when I was just a boy." Geoffrey spoke solemnly, stepping closer until they were just a few paces apart. Jonathan stood up, wary of the hunter's approach. His eyes leveled on him with calculated suspicion. He wondered if Geoffrey could see it, the way his shoulders wound tight as he prepared to defend himself. His fingers balled into fists at his sides, hidden inside his pockets in an attempt to appear polite. Every nerve was wired and taut, ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you telling me this?" Jonathan asked after a pause stretched between them. Fat flakes fell from the sky above, the blanket of dark clouds parted in scant glimpses of moonlight that threw shadows across the cemetery like childish impressions of ghouls lurking the perimeter.</p><p> </p><p>"I was wrong." Geoffrey admitted. "What I did to you was unfair." Geoffrey stepped forward but Jonathan retreated automatically, taking a careful step back. He was mindful not to trip on the snow covered graves. The pained expression that flashed across Geoffrey's face was a fleeting presence before he schooled it into something hard and indifferent. His true feelings were closely guarded but what his face could hide, his heart could not. Not from Jonathan.</p><p> </p><p>"I was angry, at myself, at you, at the shitty hand I'd been dealt." Geoffrey continued. "I lost my brother the day my father returned to Dublin a vampire. He killed my mother and turned Ian. I <em> killed </em>my brother. To end his sufferin." Geoffrey's jaw tightened, knuckles bleached white at his sides as he wound them into fists then forced them to relax. He held a hand up towards Jonathan, as if to prove a point. </p><p> </p><p>"Then here you are, feedin on rats, refusing to bite a human. Refusing to hurt another living person. You were starved and yet you never gave in." Geoffrey shook his head. "I saw that and thought I'd made a horrible mistake. That maybe if I'd done something different, I could have saved Ian."</p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't excuse what I did to you in that anger. I hurt you, I know that. You've been nothing but good to my men when you have every right not to be." Geoffrey hung his head and combed his fingers through his hair as he laughed, a dry sound that rose in his throat. A broken bitter sound. "Christ, you even entered a church tonight. I thought you didn't believe in god, Reid?"</p><p> </p><p>"I believe in science and fact." Jonathan corrected. "Mr. Peterson's son invited me. I couldn't politely decline the offer. I guess that counted as a proper invitation, even for a House of God." Both of them smiled at that, at the absurdity as it left their mouths and entered the open air. The white puffs that left Geoffrey's lips came in great huffs as he laughed.</p><p> </p><p>"It sounds like a bad joke but I had seen it with my own two eyes tonight. All of my men did. They saw you leave." Geoffrey chuckled. "You should have seen the looks on their faces."</p><p> </p><p>"It sounds like an amusing sight " Jonathan allowed, the tiniest twitch of a smile as he considered the hunters words. "I understand, Geoffrey."</p><p> </p><p>"What's that, Reid?"</p><p> </p><p>"The reason for what you did. We're only human and therefore prone to mistakes. Even as I am now, I still caused the death of my sister."</p><p> </p><p>"You can't blame yourself for that, Reid." Geoffrey interrupted but Jonathan held a hand up to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>"I promised my Mary that I would make amends, just as I promised you. I still intend to find a cure for this affliction." Jonathan tore his gaze away, directing it towards the headstones as he smiled bitterly. "I can forgive you for your transgressions but I cannot trust you so easily. You had my trust once, McCullum. I may even be so bold as to say, you may have had my loyalty but you broke that. It will not come easily if at all."</p><p> </p><p>"I understand, Reid." Geoffrey sighed and turned to inspect the headstone before them. "What a strange Christmas this is turning out to be."</p><p> </p><p>"It's only just the beginning, hunter."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. It Must Hurt Before It Can Heal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is after chapter 17 of The Priwen Chronicles. </p><p>READ CHAPTER 17 of THE PRIWEN CHRONICLES FIRST</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jonathan couldn't remember much aside from the acrid burn of bile down his throat and the bitter stench of fear that permeated the air. Then pain. One explosion after another, ripping through his body like liquid fire as he was thrown back and forth. He suppressed his instincts with the continuous reminder, a fragile sliver of rationality that withheld his claws and fangs as it screamed <em> HUMAN! DO NOT HURT! </em></p><p> </p><p>Because yes, these men that had hurt him so badly were human. The pain didn't matter, he could endure it. He would recover. But the pain he would cause them would never be forgotten. The harm he would inflict would be fatal. The scars would be everlasting from the wounds on their bodies to the corpses that were carved into the earth, just another lot in the cemetery. Just another skeleton to the mass piles that gathered through the epidemic.</p><p> </p><p>They were human and he <em> was not. </em> That was the difference. That was what stayed his hand and withheld the fangs from their flesh. That's what forced him to weave into shadows and lunge away to avoid further harm. That was what made him collapse into a heap of trash to writhe and be forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, it was a human that came to his aid. A familiar human, that smelled sharply of wood smoke, whiskey and blood. With tender hands forged for battle. With strong arms that supported what they should have broken. With kind words that should have hurt him.</p><p> </p><p>It was those gentle fingers that he woke to combing through his hair as his head rested on something firm but warm. His eyes blinked open slowly as he stared up at the water stained ceiling with its moldy spots and yellowing patches that grew like a plague across the white dappled surface. The fire threw mischievous shadows around the room like playful imps hiding behind the sparse and broken furniture. A strong jawline accentuated by dark stubble that was longer than Jonathan remembered it being. He was tempted to reach up and touch. Would it be soft, like his own or coarse and prickly?</p><p> </p><p>Icy blue eyes watched the fire as calloused fingers worked in idle motions through his hair. Nails gently scraping his scalp, pulling a low rumble from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut as he sighed at the close contact. The warmth of the fire met the warmth of a living human pressed so close to his own body. The contrast was startling to consider.</p><p> </p><p>"Reid?" He heard McCullum ask, his hands ceased their motions as he regarded him with quiet scrutiny. Jonathan supposed he was caught red handed now. He slowly opened his eyes and met the vivid blues. McCullum's head was angled oddly as he stared down at him with concern. His lip quirked into something stern yet thoughtful as if he'd just been interrupted from a deep revelry. The ratty worn out blanket remained draped around them but Jonathan noted he was no longer tucked against McCullum's side. His head was now perched on his thigh. "You feeling better?"</p><p> </p><p>That was the question now, wasn't it? He wasn't sure in truth. He didn't hurt so much anymore. The pain had faded like a distant terrifying memory that plunged him so close to the mortal fear of death, but now he didn't feel much of anything. At the same time, he felt like he was experiencing everything at once with hyperawareness. A strange out of body reaction that started with how close McCullum currently was and the absence of his usual anxiety that this sort of encounter would bring him.</p><p> </p><p>The longer he waited to answer, the more concerned the Hunter grew. "Reid?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm fine." It came automatically, without meaning or feeling behind the words. A sound that was unusual for the doctor who was typically very emotionally enthusiastic, especially in regards to the Hunter and his gaggle of guard dogs.</p><p> </p><p>"You're spacing, Reid." Geoffrey pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm….well, I'm not sure what I am." Jonathan started, frowned then moved to sit up while simultaneously mourning the moment Geoffrey's touch withdrew. <em> How long had he been doing that? </em> Jonathan wondered as his skin tingled from the sudden absence of contact. It felt nice, to say the least and Jonathan was tempted to ask him to do it again. Maybe if he added it as being for scientific reasons, he could persuade the Hunter into compliance, or maybe that would just make it seem weirder than it already was.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan sat up and combed his own fingers through his hair, drawing the mess of his bangs out of his eyes as he examined the crackling fire, blinking blearily to get accustomed to the light. Geoffrey adjusted his position on the floor to get more comfortable now that he wasn't supporting Jonathan's head anymore. He stretched his legs out in front of him and sat his hands in his lap. On the other side of him, opposite Jonathan was his sword. Along with Jonathan's ruined clothes, stained with blood and ripped up by bullets and blades.</p><p> </p><p>And here he was rather fond of that coat. It was his favorite. It had the most pockets for all his supplies. He would mourn it later, for now he had to focus.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey was right. He felt light headed and spacey. Something he quickly recognized as one of the signs of his impending hunger. Which was expected when he spent the last, how many hours, trying to heal himself?</p><p> </p><p>"Can you hand me my coat, Geoffrey?"</p><p> </p><p>"You're not leaving like that." The Hunter said firmly.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course not. I just need what's inside the pockets." Geoffrey eyed him suspiciously before conceding to the demand. He handed the article of clothing over and watched him closely as Jonathan pawed through the pockets. One pocket was completely saturated in blood which, come to find out, wasn't Jonathan's but was due to two vials breaking open in the attack. He grumbled under his breath as he picked the broken pieces out and tossed them into the fire before he found an intact vial.</p><p> </p><p>"What's that?" Geoffrey asked as Jonathan uncorked the end and tipped it back into his mouth with a grimace.</p><p> </p><p>"Imagine the blandest most bitter food you can possibly eat turned into a liquid." Jonathan explained. "That's rat blood." He held up the now empty vial before adding it to the fire and frowning. His stomach growled loudly as he considered his lost supplies. The hunger was an impulse but his poor diet choices ensured that temptation was not a continuous problem and rat blood was like surviving on dry crackers for months. It lost its allure but then again, it made him <em> less </em>hungry when he thought about food. If dry crackers is all he has, he doesn't have anything to look forward to when it's merely more dry crackers. Or in his case, rat's blood.</p><p> </p><p>"It takes the edge off." He supplied helpfully, his gaze dropped to his coat as he rummaged around with the hopes that he had a spare vial or two tucked away <em> somewhere. </em> No, he was not currently pouting, as he continued to come up empty with every pocket. His rational mind told him that he stored those vials in one pocket and one pocket only. But some vain hope held out that maybe he messed up once or misplaced one. He tossed his coat back towards the pile and glared at the floor as his stomach rumbled again. He pointedly refused to look at the hunter as he considered his chances of being able to catch rats in his recovering state or the chances of finding any rats to begin with in this weather.</p><p> </p><p>"I found you something earlier." Geoffrey offered, shoving himself up to his feet as he retrieved a box covered with a heavier board on top of it. When it was moved, Jonathan heard the scratching and pawing sounds. His head snapped up quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash as he turned his ekon eyes on the hunter. He spotted two tiny heartbeats inside the box. It wasn't much but it would help.</p><p> </p><p>"Here. It's not easy tryin to catch these bastards." Geoffrey added as he set the box in front of Jonathan. The ekon could sympathize with his efforts.</p><p> </p><p>It never got easier, being watched while he fed. Even when he was imprisoned, it was an uncomfortable feeling for eyes to focus on him as he reached inside the box and withdrew the tiny creature as it squeaked and squirmed for freedom. Jonathan made quick work of it as he sunk his fangs into the fragile body and drained it of every last drop. He repeated the task with the second rat, dropping the carcasses into the box as he drank from them. A low primal snarl rumbling in his throat, pleased with the warm meal that pooled over his tongue. It tasted disgusting, but warm rat was better than cold rat. </p><p> </p><p>"So you really do just eat rats then?" Geoffrey asked after Jonathan shoved the box away.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." Jonathan answered curtly. "It makes it easier to do my job without the temptation of my patient's blood."</p><p> </p><p>"You're not tempted at all?" The skepticism was strong, dripping in his words.</p><p> </p><p>"It's still there, per se, but I can ignore it. It's like having a craving for a treat you haven't had in a long time. Always at the back of your mind but you can ignore it by distracting yourself. Eventually the craving goes away altogether for a time."</p><p> </p><p>"But it doesn't stay gone long." Geoffrey added.</p><p> </p><p>"Unfortunately." Jonathan sighed. "That's why I started carrying these vials of rat blood on me. When the craving strikes, I drink one. It curbs the impulse."</p><p> </p><p>"I see."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan tucked his knees towards his chest as he watched the fire. His hands folded over the tops of his knees as he balanced his chin against the back of his palms. His fingers interwoven as he considered the thoughts bouncing around inside his head.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey appeared to share his pensive state and elected to speak first on the matter.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry about what my lads did to ya."</p><p> </p><p>"They followed orders." Jonathan stated bluntly. He noticed Geoffrey's wince in the corner of his eye but didn't comment on it. "I accept your apology."</p><p> </p><p>The quiet settled between them again. This time the tension turned awkward. They both shifted uncomfortably as the crackle of the flames accompanied the quiet until Jonathan spoke up this time.</p><p> </p><p>"I have a strange proposition for you, hunter."</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey turned to stare the ekon down with a suspicious glint in his eye. He warily asked. "What is it?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not going to dance around the truth, hunter. Since the night you tortured me, I am afraid of you." Geoffrey raised a brow at that. "Rationally, I know that it's unnecessary given the circumstances of the situation. But you broke my trust and instinctively, I find it hard to move past that."</p><p> </p><p>"And how does this relate to your proposition, Reid?"</p><p> </p><p>"Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?"</p><p> </p><p>"Can't say I have."</p><p> </p><p>"When a subject has a fear they wish to overcome, they are reintroduced to variations of that fear in controlled environments. For example, for those trying to overcome Musophobia, it would be imagery of a rat. Sounds similar to that of a rat. Textures that may be similar to its fur. Then they enter a room with a dead rat or one inside a locked container." Jonathan waved his hand in a circle as he continued. "And so on, until the subject can calmly hold a rat in their hands or stand beside one without being overcome with their fear."</p><p> </p><p>"How does that involve me?" Geoffrey asked after a moment, puzzled as he gazed at the doctor. "Isn't that what we're doing right now?"</p><p> </p><p>"You're only a variable in my fears, Geoffrey." Jonathan explained. "It's the loss of control that overwhelmed me. Being caged and unable to defend myself in your presence." He added.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you asking me to chain you up?"</p><p> </p><p>"In a sense. It would have to be done in levels." Jonathan explained. "I want my freedom back Geoffrey. Do you understand? You didn't just break my trust, you stole my freedom that day. You took away the choice of my willingness."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan could hear the change in the hunter's heartbeat. The sudden nervous spike as he considered the consequences of his actions. Jonathan had been living in fear of the Irishman's shadow for so long, his paranoia eating at his mind at every turn. He wanted to reclaim that. He wanted to be able to kneel before Geoffrey, chained and commanded and not feel afraid. He wanted to be able to trust him again, as he did in the beginning. After all, they were no longer enemies. It was unspoken but clear now. A line had been written in the snow, and Geoffrey had offered the first olive branch of peace since the whole ordeal.</p><p> </p><p>"Why? Why are you asking me this?" It was a fair question. Most people would just avoid the object of their trauma but Jonathan refused to be ruled by irrational impulses. He was the maker of his own destiny. The guide through his own life. He refused to let someone else make those choices for him any longer.</p><p> </p><p>"Call it foolish, but I want to trust you Geoffrey. I don't have anyone left I could turn to about all of this." Jonathan gestured between them knowingly. "You know just as well as I, I need an ally in this fight. I need a <em> friend. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"You did a piss poor job of picking friends, Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"It would seem so." There was a fretful silence between them as Jonathan tilted his head and addressed the hunter thoughtfully. He was hopeful to say the least.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, fine. I'll help you with your little experiment." Geoffrey sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he frowned. "I hope I don't regret this."</p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry dear Hunter. You get to do the fun part."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. House Cleaning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With his motivation reignited with the festive season, Jonathan found himself even busier than before, with an additional pep in his step. This made him a formidable opponent for his next great battle to come, one of the utmost importance, mind you. He had been aware of the problem brewing under the thinly laid facade of the staff and their daily routine. The way their eyes averted quickly, long since the shame and mortification had faded to a dull resignation to the truth. Jonathan refused to play puppet to this cruel dance any longer. If he had to continue living this way, he would crawl out of his skin and scream.</p><p> </p><p>He marched down the steps, armed to the teeth with days of preparation and a carefully formulated plan in mind. Let this atrocity be vanquished from his sight, no more will it reign like a sickness upon their duties, its foul hold over the hospital will linger no longer. Dr. Jonathan Emmet Reid will end it tonight.</p><p> </p><p>He gathered a warm bucket of water with a bit of disinfectant mixed in, a rag and a scrub brush. He had brought an extra set of clothes with him from his home, an old pair of trousers, rough and faded in the knees from his early days before the war, and an equally worn light grey long sleeve. The sleeves were neatly folded to his elbows so they remained snug in place. His footsteps padded quickly to the bottom of the steps and made a b-line to the left, entering the first of many of the little side storage rooms Pembroke had made of their reception areas. There were empty bottles, half used containers, old dusty and partially damaged boxes cluttering the floors and the shelves. Old mattresses too stained and ripped up to be reused were shoved in piles along the wall. Jonathan didn’t even want to think about how unsanitary the whole thing was. Heaps of old sheets that looked like they needed to be burned instead of washed joined them. Furniture, bed frames that were rusted and broken, twisted and warped springs, old water stained, mildew stricken privacy curtains and stacked basins only added to the chaotic mess.</p><p> </p><p>A quick scan with his ekon sight, and Jonathan can be assured, painfully so, that there were even <em> mice </em>living in a couple of the crates. Old soiled newspapers and reports that were tossed into piles and forgotten or improperly filed littered the floors. There was god knows how many medical supplies that had either expired, been forgotten or were too buried for the staff to get a hold of and use when necessary.</p><p> </p><p>Enough was enough.</p><p> </p><p>He set the bucket on a bench and scanned the room quietly. He picked up the first empty crate he could find and started collecting all the discarded bottles, setting another on the bench as he sorted through what ones can be recycled into something useful, and what ones could be tossed out. He knelt on the floor, rifling through shelves and crates, sorting and separating as necessary, then stacking the old boxes by the door to be taken outside and disposed of later. Several minutes turned into half an hour when Nurse Finch walked by and paused. She lingered, Jonathan could sense her presence at his back but he didn’t comment on it. He supposed this looked odd for his position, but he didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>After a minute, he heard her leave and noted that her shift should be ending soon. Nurse Hawkins would trade out with her, and she would head off home for the evening. Jonathan didn’t mind. He had no prior engagements arranged for the evening and things had calmed down in the last week or so, allowing for the reprieve in his workload. </p><p> </p><p>He had just finished setting the third crate of recyclable bottles on the bench when movement by the door caught his attention.</p><p> </p><p>Nurse Finch smiled warmly at him as she entered with a bucket of water and a wash rag in hand, holding it in front of her as she spoke. “Tell me where you want me, doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Nurse Finch, that isn’t necessary.” Jonathan was astonished but then again, he really shouldn’t be. She was a hard worker and given her reputation when serving during the war, she knew just as well as he did, how chaotic clutter could hinder their work efficiency. “Shouldn’t you be heading home?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright, Dr. Reid. I want to help.” She lifted the bucket again expectantly. Jonathan straightened up as he glanced around the room to find a starting point. He hadn’t anticipated having help and his plan had been methodically built around one person so it involved layers of productivity that he estimated would take all night long. He gestured at the first of the shelves that he had cleared away. </p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you could start there. Or even pick up the papers on the floor. These floors need to be scrubbed as well.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “If we don’t finish tonight, there is always tomorrow.” He assured, hoping she won’t overwork herself with the intention of getting it accomplished in one go.</p><p> </p><p>With a nod of confirmation, she got to work and Jonathan fell back into his task once more, clearing away the shelves and sorting useful supplies.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had almost an entire shelving unit emptied which Nurse Finch had mostly scrubbed down, working one level at a time in between cleaning the debris off the floors. They could finally walk around without tripping on trash which Jonathan was thankful for. He turned when he recognized a familiar presence at his back. A glance over his shoulder placed the large shadow that stood in the doorway. Guard of Priwen, second in command to Geoffrey McCullum, Beamard O’Connor, was shucking off his coat and laying it on the bench, sleeves rolled up as he joined in on the clean up.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was aware that he visited frequently, often to walk Nurse Finch home each night. He had overheard Milton and Nurse Hawkins discussing it while on one of their many smoke breaks down by the water, so the presence of the massive Irishman didn’t inspire fear or apprehension in the ekon. He was here for a social visit, so to speak.</p><p> </p><p>With the third pair of hands, Jonathan noted the delighted smile that graced Nurse Finch’s features when O’Connor joined in. They were able to maneuver the heavy metal framed shelves out of the room and into the adjacent one across the lobby. Nurse Branagan was about to comment on the sharp noise of metal when it scraped on the tile before both man and ekon hoisted it up with some effort. The staff peeked around the doors, a few patients watching in surprise as they hefted the considerable weight together. It did not escape Jonathan's notice, when someone cat call whistled at them though for the life of him, he couldn't pinpoint the source. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan cautiously directed O’Connor to avoid stumbling into the reception desk as they deposited the shelf in the new space, lined up neatly against the wall until they could place it in a more permanent spot when they finished. They dusted their hands and emerged, noting the peculiar stares directed their way. He rolled his shoulders and carried on, ignoring the strange looks. Jonathan couldn't tell if it was directed at him due to his status or the fact he lifted what he estimated to be a 350lb shelf with ease and O'Connor's help. The aforementioned man had developed a sweat and a slight pant from the effort while the good doctor remained unperturbed.</p><p> </p><p><em> 'Oh.' </em> Jonathan realized quickly. <em> 'I see.' </em> He quickly forgot the limitations of the mortal body with his newfound existence. He wasn't winded easily, he didn't sweat, at least he hadn't worked himself up enough to warrant it if it were even possible. He wasn't easily short of breath. (Breath, mind you, that he didn't actually need.) His panting during strenuous fights was mostly a fixture of habit from his mortal life, than a dire necessity. He elected to be more careful in the future.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure if it was due to Nurse Branagan’s own need to poke her nose where it wasn’t necessarily asked for, or Mr. Hook’s own need to find something to do in his downtime, but before long, they had an extra pair of hands as Milton joined the cluster in the storage room. Under Jonathan’s direction, they quickly cleared away the boxes. O’Connor and Nurse Finch scrubbed down the equipment with a thorough touch, mopping up the floors and clearing away layers of dust and debris that had been overlooked. Jonathan and Milton hauled the old broken frames, mattresses and sheets out back behind the morgue where the old burn pile was from the Summer.</p><p> </p><p>O’Connor traded places with Jonathan, swapping the mop bucket to help carry the next two sets of shelves. Milton struggled to keep his end from scraping on the ground, further irritating Nurse Branagan with the noise. Miss Howcroft giggled in amusement from where she lurked, her eyes always watching, always curious at the little rag tag group.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan inspected the pieces of useful furniture and considered storing it upstairs in the attic where it would be out of the way until the epidemic was taken care of and the hospital was a bit less in shambles. He ensured that the group had their tasks at hand while he took the steps towards Dr. Swansea’s office two at a time.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan knocked and waited for the Administrator’s telltale admission. “Enter!”</p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Swansea.” Jonathan greeted as he opened the door, wincing internally when he heard the scraping of metal downstairs as Milton and O’Connor moved the last shelf out of the back room.</p><p> </p><p>“By the Stole, what is that noise Jonathan?” Swansea blurted, his brows furrowed into growing concern as he leaned over his desk, his hand in mid stroke of whatever notes he was writing. Jonathan disarmed his fretful expression with a reassuring smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that is what I wanted to speak with you about, Edgar.” Jonathan casually approached the desk, catching the growing confusion when Swansea noticed the difference in his apparel. It wasn’t as bad as what he wore the night he stumbled into Pembroke but it was, for lack of a better word, shabby. Especially when compared to his usual attire.</p><p> </p><p>“Jonathan.” Swansea pressed. “What the devil is going on in my hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan grimaced internally, but forged on with poise as he proceeded to answer. “I probably should have run this past you earlier, but I decided to clean up the storage room and reorganize our supplies.” Swansea raised a questioning brow. Jonathan continued in his defence. “It was a disaster, Edgar. There are so many supplies that were going unused because the mess made it hard to find them.”</p><p> </p><p>Swansea sighed, sitting back in his seat. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped.” He gestured towards the seat across from his desk. Jonathan politely declined the seat, aware that if he stopped to rest for even a moment, he may lose his motivation.</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering if I could use the attic for additional storage. There is quite a bit of furniture that can be used but right now, it’s just taking up unnecessary space.” Jonathan explained.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, dear fellow.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Why?” Jonathan was perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>Swansea was pensive for a moment, considering his words carefully before he lowered his voice between them. “The attic is too dangerous. Since the bombings, I’m afraid its not structurally sound. Some of the beams and boards aren’t safe.” He explained simply, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” Jonathan sighed, scrubbing his palm against the side of his face as he stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “Edgar, if I may be so bold as to inquire, why don’t we have proper cleaning staff? We’re already spread thin and it isn’t the duty nurses’ jobs to be cleaning floors on top of everything else they’re doing. I’m sure there would be someone willing to work out there.” It was a thought that Jonathan had contemplated since the incident with Sean Hampton and Harriet Jones. It wasn’t Nurse Hawkin’s job to be mopping up blood from a destroyed room or the halls, yet she was the one tasked with crawling around on her hands and knees, when her efforts would have been more beneficial with consoling the patients and tending to their needs.</p><p> </p><p>He was aware that the hospital had a very generous benefactor that funded their efforts, yet they were constantly running low on supplies, they couldn’t afford special shipments, and they were understaffed. Jonathan didn’t want to question the directives of their Administrator, but he had to wonder where all the funding was going if not towards their medical stores and staff.</p><p> </p><p>“There was an ad placed in the paper, yet nobody answered it.” Jonathan noted the strange offbeat of Swansea’s pulse. It was quick and disappeared faster than he could make sense of it. But it was there, after both times he spoke. A slight anomaly in its normally calm pace. Jonathan would have assumed it was nervous, but it didn't linger long enough for him to accurately diagnose the problem. He frowned but resigned himself to a lack of proper answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Very well.” He didn’t mean to sound so tired, but it came nonetheless. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and wrinkled it at the stench of grease and disinfectant that clung to his hands. He glanced down at his palm and the dirt that stained his knees. Little creases of grease streaked the front of his shirt but he supposed he expected as much. “Thank you for your time, Edgar.”</p><p> </p><p>“Certainly Jonathan. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Jonathan would keep that in mind, but he didn’t expect anything to change concerning Swansea’s willingness to get involved. Frankly speaking, since Jonathan took over tending to Mr. Bonner’s case and Ms. Jones had left, he never saw Dr. Swansea among the staff. After speaking with some of the other members of the hospital, he was made aware that it wasn’t so out of character for their esteemed Administrator to be absent more often than not. Sometimes, it would be for days at a time.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan left Swansea's office and was pleased to see that O'Connor and Milton had reorganized the boxes so they were all neatly stacked and lined up. Jonathan had already marked them all with the appropriate labels when he sorted them, so they would be easier to find. They moved the extra furniture up the stairs and placed them in the carpeted area for the time being. Jonathan was determined to start sorting up here next, taking what was useful back downstairs where the staff could easily find it.</p><p> </p><p>With the space cleared up, Jonathan and O'Connor carried one shelving unit back in, giving Milton a break for the moment. Nurse Finch disposed of the filthy bucket water and wrung out the rags to be cleaned and dried, along with the salvaged sheets, towels and blankets they found buried in cabinets and cupboards.</p><p> </p><p>There, they started neatly arranging the boxes and crates with their labels facing outward. Jonathan organized them accordingly and, after borrowing some extra paper and a clipboard, he wrote up an inventory of everything, and hung it on the shelf. He repeated this with the other three shelves as they were neatly arranged and organized to take up the least amount of space possible.</p><p> </p><p>Overall, the ekon was more than satisfied with the amount of work they accomplished in one night. It had gotten late, he realized. Nurse Finch and O'Connor looked beyond worn out and Milton appeared to be leaning against the wall to stay upright in an attempt to not fall asleep. His arms tucked lazily in front of his chest as he examined their handiwork.</p><p> </p><p>"Good job, everyone." Jonathan commended, clapping his hands together in a sudden sharp motion. It jarred the group from their weary daze if only for the moment. He smiled sympathetically as O'Connor braced a hand against the nurse's back when she swayed on her feet. "Take the day off, Miss Finch. You've more than earned a break."</p><p> </p><p>"But, Dr. Reid-" She started to protest but he shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>"Statistically speaking, you just performed a double shift. I'll inform Dr. Swansea to adjust the rota accordingly. I'm certain he would agree, your hard work has earned it." He smiled warmly, mindful to keep his fangs concealed behind his lips. A task that was easier some days, than it was others. Speaking of, he turned to address O'Connor, extending a hand to the larger man.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you for your assistance Mr. O'Connor. You didn't have to help but the aid was greatly appreciated." O'Connor dwarfed Jonathan's hand in a strong grip but it remained respectful and a little firm.</p><p> </p><p>O'Connor nodded solemnly, a quiet hum rumbled in his throat. "I'm always glad to help, Dr. Reid. You do a lot for the lads, Vinny especially. It's the least I could do."</p><p> </p><p>"Send my regards to him, would you? I do hope he's doing well."</p><p> </p><p>O'Connor chuckled warmly. "Trouble as per usual. What'dya expect?" He sighed and glanced down towards Nurse Finch, who's weight leaned against his side as she shifted from foot to foot. Both men shared the same thought as their eyes met. "I better get her home before it gets any later."</p><p> </p><p>"Understood." Jonathan chimed. "Would you like a ride home?"</p><p> </p><p>"Nah, I believe the walk could do us some good. It's not that far." O'Connor reassured. "Take care, Dr. Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"Take care, Mr. O'Connor. Good night Nurse Finch."</p><p> </p><p>"Good night, Dr. Reid." She called, then nodded towards Milton. "Mr. Hooks."</p><p> </p><p>"Nurse Finch. Walk safe." Milton grunted with a parting salute.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan watched as the pair retrieved their coats and moved to brave the bitter cold. When they had vacated the building, he turned to relieve Milton from his work for the evening. He was in no state to be driving the ambulance and from the looks of the roads, he doubted the motor vehicle would make it through the drifts.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan cleaned up the last of their mess by himself, stopped by Swansea's office to inform him of Nurse Finch's change in shift and Milton's break. Then made his way towards his office. He resigned to take a well earned break as well, deciding to save the upper floor cleaning for tomorrow evening. For now, he was satisfied with a job well done. Distantly, as he scrubbed his hands in his office sink and put on a clean change of clothes, he could hear the gossip of the nurses as they chattered and praised the sudden change in the storage room. His heightened senses only added to the relief that settled on his shoulders and the pleasure that draped over his mind from an accomplishment, even one as simple as that. There was something inexplicably cathartic in the activity. Especially when that task was carried out as a team.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Since I spent the last 5 or 6 days writing Bat Reid content and haven't worked on any more chapters of TPC or Captivation, the next updates may be slower and juggled between Bat Reid. I have the next chapters planned out, I promise. I just...well....Bat Reid is adorable and I can't say no to writing more cute fluffy Reid content. So there's that. I promise to get to work on them in the next couple days! So keep an eye out. </p><p>I'll just be posting other content in the meantime. </p><p> </p><p>Thank you for reading and leaving all the wonderful comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Tea Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan gets an invitation for tea.</p><p> </p><p>This comes before The Priwen Chronicles chapter 19.</p>
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    <p>"You wanted to speak with me, Edgar?"</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan, yes. Come in." The administrator was seated behind his desk as per usual. His fingers idly playing around with the skull that sat prominently on the edge. A macabre decoration, even for a doctor's standards. He gestured towards the seat across from his desk desk which Jonathan accepted the invitation. As he settled into the chair, the ekon noticed the nervous beat of Edgar's heart as he folded his hands together before himself.</p><p> </p><p>"Is something wrong?" Jonathan asked, brows furrowed in concern.</p><p> </p><p>"No, nothing's wrong. In fact, I'd say something is going right for once." He sighed heavily. "As you're well aware, Pembroke Hospital has an anonymous benefactor that funds our battle against this epidemic. If it wasn't for her, we wouldn't be able to keep our doors open." Edgar's fingers twitched anxiously as he reached for a sealed envelope that was tucked off to the side of his desk. "She has extended an invitation to meet you in person, Jonathan."</p><p> </p><p>"Why me?" He was puzzled by this revelation. He has heard hushed rumors about the benefactor visiting in odd hours, but he had yet to actually see her in person. He assumed that was do to his own chaotic schedule and how little he actually remained on Hospital grounds when he had the choice.</p><p> </p><p>"You have made quite a name for yourself my dear fellow. And she is <em> familiar </em>with those of your specific condition." Swansea alluded. His voice lifted with an optimistic smile, one that held ominous promises for something interesting. It piqued the ekon's interest.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was taken aback by that bit of information. An influx of questions rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. "Is she a part of your Brotherhood?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, no Jonathan. She is not. Her situation is far different, but she is sympathetic to your endeavors, I assure you. I highly suggest you save your curiosity for when you meet." He chuckled as he gestured towards the envelope, ushering in that it held all the answers the ekon sought. Jonathan was struck by a confusing mix of excitement and dread as he accepted the letter and flipped it slowly around in his hands. It smelled faintly of perfume, a subtle aroma that clung to the edges of the paper.</p><p> </p><p>"I see." He settled. "I guess I shouldn't dally then." Swansea watched him as he stood up, tucking the letter into his breast pocket for the moment.</p><p> </p><p>Edgar nodded as the ekon excused himself from his office. Jonathan wasn't sure what he was expecting, but a formal invitation to this Lady Ashbury's home for tea was not one of them. It was a simple letter and Jonathan was perplexed by how <em> mundane </em> it felt. As if she were extending a request that would lead to an inevitable courting ritual between the two like some love struck youths experiencing the wiles of the world for the first time. He would have to admit, he was disappointed if only a little.</p><p> </p><p>He supposed this was partially McCullum's fault. The hunter may have spoiled him with an unquenchable thirst for the unseen and mysterious. Their delightful rendezvous in secret hideaways, the stolen messages tucked into odd places that only the other could find when they'd miss one another on rounds. It was all so thrilling. The thought of attending tea time with a delicate and possibly older woman didn't cure his underlying boredom. The only thing he supposed he had to look forward to would be the potential gossip he could scrounge from the meeting. If that doesn't pan out, he could always snoop around for something juicier or go hunting for sewer beasts to take his restless energy out on.</p><p>
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</p><p>The next evening saw him making his way towards the West End, following the directions that would lead him to this Lady Ashbury's home. He had checked the letter for the second time that night, comparing it to his mental map regarding the layout of the city. It was balanced precariously on the boundary line between the two boroughs, between the West End and Whitechapel.</p><p> </p><p>A cold chill raced down his spine in a snap of electricity, causing him to jolt. His footsteps stopped dead in their tracks, standing on the bridge that arched over the canal. The white flakes of snow turned to darkened ash as the world was awash in a bloody smokescreen. An ethereal voice echoed in his mind, ringing familiar bells that slammed him back to the night he returned to London. </p><p> </p><p>A phantom poem danced on the edges of his mind, so distant now and nearly forgotten. They surged to the forefront like a bestial snarl in the dark of night. Every muscle was coiled tight as he bared his fangs defensively. Something about the figure that manifested on the bridge set every nerve alight and breathed life into the most primal and instinctive part of his psyche.</p><p> </p><p>"You." It came out brittle and accusatory, a breathless whisper fueling disbelief. "I remember you." The figure was a flickering flame against the cobblestones. An unsteady corporeal state of living <em> blood </em>constantly moving and flowing in a disturbing form. A cloaked figure adorned with mythical horns. His face was absent of expression but his voice rang sharply in his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p><em> "Fear be gone! I would harm no child of my making." </em> His words heeded an ancient formation, cryptic and curling like smoke between them from dying embers. Jonathan hadn't even realized when he approached, closing the distance between them until the figure was looming over him with blank scrutiny. His head cocked to the side as he examined the doctor like a frightened animal cowering in the corner of some back alley.</p><p> </p><p>The blood rose and swelled like the water lapping against the pier, batting back and forth in controlled chaos. </p><p> </p><p>"This is your doing!" Jonathan blurted, vitriol dripping from every word. The anger that had been absent for so long, the <em> pain </em> he had schooled into the darkest recesses of his mind, all of it came unraveled and manifested in a dagger edge that parried his words. Brandished against the one that had hurt him the most. The man, or <em> creature </em>who's fangs permanently scarred his neck and whose actions caused the death of his Mary. "You made me...made me this creature?!" The disgust seeped from every word. "What are you?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em> I am the land. You are our champion </em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Riddles and rhymes!" He spat. "You took my life, now you insult my mind."</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Be stilled my child, I bring understanding </em>." The placating parental tone only further infuriated the doctor. Jonathan was in no mood to be talked down to and coddled like a petulant child. His lips curled back into a snarl, an inhuman sound rolled from his tongue but the shadows were unperturbed. The blood flowed and danced, dark flakes of snow descended slowly like the sluggish tears of blood falling from the blackened blanket of clouds that loomed like a desperate storm above. </p><p> </p><p>The ground was saturated in the crimson tones, a blood bath across the landscape that threw him back to the scarred scenery of France. War torn woods, snow stained with the blood of the fallen and dead. Bullets ripped through bark and into the earth where men shed their dying screams with filthy tears racing down frozen faces. Blood ran warmly over his numb fingers while he desperately tried to stop the flow before it quenched the thirst of this godforsaken hellscape.</p><p> </p><p>Every nerve was wired, his body coiled to strike with claws and fangs, but some unseen force stole his freedom. His blood felt heavy in his veins, his fingers twitched in futile attempts to move. The figure appeared to smile in some sad twisted way as the shadows pooled across what he assumed was its face, accentuating lighter shades and tones that may have been eyes that gazed upon him with a sadistic sort of empathy. Like the disappointment of a father. It lanced through Jonathan's chest like an icy spear, stealing his breath and his freedom in one shallow thrust.</p><p> </p><p>"What is it you seek?" His words were forced but they were all he could spare as he struggled to regain control. Anger overcame the terror he should have felt in its place.</p><p> </p><p>"<em> This age is sickly. An ancient poison, an older rage. Brewed in a cauldron newly forged </em>."</p><p> </p><p>"This has something to do with the epidemic?" His voice cracked under the strain, an unbecoming noise high in his throat as he pressed against the force that restrained him.</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Seek truth, my champion. Defeat the serpent of knowing with iron spur. </em>" The world faded into darkness as the smokescreen disappeared and released him from the invisible cage that bound him. It was unprompted and without warning, causing the ekon to fall to his knees with an unsteady gasp. He hissed through his teeth, drawing in his composure as that lingering anger bled out of him. The alarm bells in the back of his skull had quieted now, allowing him to relax for the first time since the strange appearance.</p><p> </p><p>"So the vampire who made me is some sort of disembodied entity? Or maybe he was just projecting this vision in my mind?" Some part of him doubted the latter. Due to the sudden loss of control that stilled his hand and forced him to obey its command. It chilled him to his core with a mounting sort of dread and fueled his frustration even more. Needless to say, the evening just got a lot more interesting.</p><p> </p><p>Meeting Lady Ashbury was not what he expected. For one, she was a lot younger than he anticipated. And two, he noticed her stark pallor and the incredibly slow beat of her heart. The bright red shade of her hair only furthered her ghostly visage and accentuated the brightness of her leaf green eyes. He was a bit ashamed that the first words out of his mouth were a very startled. "You're like me!"</p><p> </p><p>Her amusement came with a breathy laugh stifled in her throat as she smiled, a maternal sort of smile. It made Jonathan feel foolish and prickled at the reminder of his Maker's earlier encounter.</p><p> </p><p>"Pardon my boldness, Milady. It's just, every ekon I've met up to now has made a valiant effort to try and kill me." She welcomed him into her home and shut the door, urging him with a delicate wave to follow her into the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>"I can imagine how frightful that must have been, being a newborn especially. For your first encounter with your own kind to be so violent. Not all ekons are so volatile, I assure you Dr. Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"I would hope so. And please, call me Jonathan." He sighed, trailing into the rather exquisite parlor where she had just prepared a spot of tea. They settled down in the luxurious armchairs before the fire. Jonathan was hesitant about the tea, tilting his head with a peculiar glance as he inspected the delicate china offered to him. His thumb brushed over the handle with idle admiration for the tiny details. It made him feel a bit more human while at the same time, not so much. The bittersweet nostalgia of visiting companions and neighbors for lunch when he was younger and the world was less chaotic.</p><p> </p><p>"You can still drink tea?" He inquired, the question had been balancing on his tongue with a desperate need to find the truth. Swansea had warned him about the consumption of human food and its effects on the ekon digestive system, he didn't heed the warning entirely and still attempted to sip water. It ended about as well as one would expect, with him clutching a waste bin by his bedside.</p><p> </p><p>"Can't keep it down." She lamented. "But I still do enjoy the aroma." They raised their cups in a polite toast, to make believe in their cursed existence and to their health. It felt like a jilted joke against their condition but Jonathan assumed those who have lived with it for so long, have learned to hate it less. He was relieved to find that at least one ekon retained some form of sanity in this long life. He hoped that ensured his own wouldn't end in a disastrous state of derangement.</p><p> </p><p>He set his cup on the coffee table and sighed, folding his hands politely in his lap as he spoke up. "So, my Lady. Why, truly, have you invited me here?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've been asked to deliver an official invitation to meet the Ascalon club." The name rang a faint bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn't recall what about them sounded so familiar.</p><p> </p><p>"Who are they?"</p><p> </p><p>"They are the embodiment of vampire law in Britain. Some say they influence the destiny of the Empire. Some believe they merely protect it."</p><p> </p><p>"How many are they?" They sounded like a force to be reckoned with, to have so much power over a country.</p><p> </p><p>"Only a small number of powerful and deceitful immortals, all of them entangled in a sticky web of shadow cabinets influencing trade."</p><p> </p><p>"Will they fight the Guard of Priwen?" </p><p> </p><p>"I doubt it. Fergal was Lord Redgrave's executioner forever and a day. By defeating that beast, you deprived them of a powerful weapon."</p><p> </p><p>"Wait- how did you know it was me?" He finally recalled where the name had stuck but Fergal was just a minor hindrance to his endeavors at the time. Too much mouth for Jonathan's thinning patience. It wasn't a task he had spoken about freely, other than to Geoffrey when delving into what exactly kind of creature he was.</p><p> </p><p>"This city has many secrets Jonathan, but few that are truly kept as such. Your actions have garnered the attention of many powerful entities, the Ascalon Club being only one of them."</p><p> </p><p>"Why use you to contact me?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because you reside where they cannot reach you. Venturing away from the West End is beneath them and without Fergal, their reach has been limited. The Guard of Priwen keeps them tucked behind their fortified walls." She gave a small amused laugh as she added. "And the Pembroke Hospital is my territory."</p><p> </p><p>She sighed wistfully. "The Ascalon Club has many spies Jonathan." It came with an edge of warning. "Do not be fooled into lowering your guard."</p><p> </p><p>"You sound like you do not trust them."</p><p> </p><p>"Because I don't. No one should."</p><p> </p><p>"It's hard to find a reason to accept their invitation then." He pointed out, straightening up in his seat.</p><p> </p><p>"That lies the problem. Dr. Swansea informed me of your progress. You seek to find a cure for the epidemic?"</p><p> </p><p>"I do."</p><p> </p><p>"Then you will need powerful allies in this fight." She fiddled with the tea cup, adjusting it on the Saucer thoughtfully. "Their main occupation is gathering information and then deciding how to use it. They can be a strong ally or a formidable foe."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan should have suspected as much. Vampire society, and human society appeared to uphold the same decrepit old rules and age old values as one another. Money was power, influence was the only weapon they dealt in, split tongues laced with deceit and lies brandished to mold and bend the weaker willed to their advantage. It was sickening.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of their evening involved discussing the finer points of expectations, the club's dislike for the female populace in positions of power, and the arrogance of Lord Redgrave. Jonathan had been advised to heed the Lord's laws and show him the utmost respect. The invitation came in a formal letter, as well as a spoken one. He assumed Lady Ashbury had wanted to prepare him for the worst that could befall his presence there. She, just like he, suspected a foul motion ahead.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan departed with a newfound weariness as yet another scheme laid by immortals continued to try his patience and infuriate him. The only reassurance that soothed his thoughts was the brief lapse of time he had to prepare himself for the aforementioned meeting. In two days, he was expected to stand before them and whatever quest they had in mind.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Ascalon Club</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan presents himself before the Ascalon Club, but he is not alone.</p><p>This chapter is before The Priwen Chronicles chapter 20. Please read this first.</p>
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    <p>This wasn't what Jonathan had in mind when he asked McCullum for help. Currently, they were all gathered in the parlor of his childhood home, to which both Mr. Babic and Mr. Bonner easily made themselves at home in. It took twenty minutes to get his mother and Avery to allow them some breathing space so they could discuss the plan ahead.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor had anticipated that Geoffrey would possibly accompany him but given the circumstances and his own sort of notoriety, he understood in the end that their chances of making this go smoothly would be slim to none. Mr. Bonner had visited Pembroke earlier in the day upon receiving his orders to avoid any unnecessary distractions or incidents that could endanger the entire plan.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Babic would post up on the street outside to keep watch for any signs of trouble, while Mr. Bonner would accompany Jonathan under the guise of his personal "assistant". He was made well aware that it wasn't uncommon for ekons to keep willing humans as walking food services. Though the idea sickened him to the core. And Ascalon was no stranger to these appalling practices.</p><p> </p><p>He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, calling upon his patience to see him through this evening. He despised the unethical activities of the club and its members already and he had yet to even meet a single one of them. Between what Lady Ashbury informed him and Geoffrey's own investigations on the club, it had its fair share of skeletons piled deep beneath the foundations.</p><p> </p><p>The upside to the whole situation, Jonathan decided, was the new and pleasant terms he and the hunter were on. After their in depth conversation on the topic at hand, they did dabble a bit in exploring their recent admissions and bared themselves raw before each other, explaining the misunderstandings they shared along the way. It didn't fix everything of course. Jonathan was still focused on building that trust up again with the hunter, but every step was progress and honesty was an important building block. Along the same concern, they both agreed to continue the sessions once they had established an entirely new set of ground rules and agreed on them.</p><p> </p><p>It helped ease Jonathan's conscience a bit, especially regarding the fact he did force Geoffrey's hand. He was genuinely sorry and unendingly apologetic to the point that the hunter may have had to shut him up by the end. The sensation of soft lips against his own was a welcome apparition to his senses.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan shook the thoughts from his head, determined to keep his focus with the task before him. Both men were dressed in civilian attire for this job, a look that was certain to not draw much attention. He couldn't say much about the quality of their disguises or the fact that one glimpse at them would scream Whitechapel at the very least.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan had fretted over Mr. Bonner's outfit, having him change into something that would be more befitting a servant of a West End household. He had to at least look presentable and his shabby jacket that was too worn out in places was already a disaster. They had gone through four separate jackets before they found one that would better fit Vincent's slight frame and match his coloring more prominently.</p><p> </p><p>"There." Jonathan stepped back with a satisfied smile at the darker olive that now adorned his shoulders. The edges just stopped about mid thigh but Jonathan couldn't really do much about that. </p><p> </p><p>"This just may be the most expensive thing I've ever worn." Vincent sighed, pulling at the flaps of the coat as he searched the pockets for an appropriate place to put a weapon. He managed to fit a wooden stake in the inside pocket and a small revolver on his belt.</p><p> </p><p>"Hopefully that won't be necessary." Jonathan lamented as he circled Vincent with a critical eye, ensuring he couldn't see any of the weapons protruding in any way.</p><p> </p><p>"It is alvays necessary." Vukasin stated bluntly from where he leaned against the wall. He had kept a critical eye on Vincent since the moment they arrived, never allowing the other guard to veer out of sight. It reminded Jonathan of the fact he rarely ever saw the pair apart, and when he did, Vincent was less lively and more withdrawn. He hoped that wouldn't affect tonight's mission too much, but he had faith in the younger man's abilities.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, yes." Jonathan dismissed as he checked his pocket watch for the time. "We're going to be late if we keep this up so I'm afraid it'll have to do."</p><p> </p><p>He ushered the pair out of the house and across the street. Vukasin broke away from the group to lurk down the street where a young activist named Charlotte was shouting about women's rights to vote. His eyes tracked both the ekon and the guard as they walked through the front gates and up the stairs to the front door. Vincent stayed a pace behind Jonathan and kept his head down, while the doctor knocked.</p><p> </p><p>A doorman answered, sliding the panel across as he inspected the pair with suspicion. Jonathan held up the envelope he received two nights prior with the Ascalon Club seal on it.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid. I was formally invited."</p><p> </p><p>"Who's he?" The ekon hissed, a cold glare leveled on Vincent.</p><p> </p><p>"My personal servant." Jonathan answered curtly, ignoring the discomfort those words brought him by just uttering them. Still, he schooled his expression and carried on with the act as the door opened and allowed them both inside. There were several ekons scattered about the building, each a sluggish heartbeat crawling by with time. Among them were the quicker pulses of humans, some appeared to accompany certain ekons, others were regarded with the same respect as their immortal members. <em> Did they allow humans to join as well? </em> That was definitely an intriguing bit of information. Most elitists didn't sully themselves among the rabble, <em> unless </em> they could use it for their own means.</p><p> </p><p>He had to wonder how many wealthy households had rubbed elbows with these elites. As he scanned the faces, Lady Ashbury's words surfaced. There was not a single female in the entire building. All of the attendees were mostly middle aged humans or older, or the youthful faces of ekons, devoid of the wiles of time.</p><p> </p><p>The doorman directed them towards a set of stairs that would lead to the meeting room. "Thank you."</p><p> </p><p>"Sir, he will have to stay here." The doorman interjected, stepping towards Vincent. Jonathan withheld the urge to intervene, cutting the man off with a dagger edge glare that forced him to take a step back. He raised his hands in a placating manner. "It's just the rules, sir. He can take a seat in the parlor."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan turned to meet Vincent's gaze and found a reassuring smile plastered on his face. "I'll wait here then, sir." He spoke politely, with an odd boyish charm to the mischief in his eyes. He cocked his head to the side, a subtle direction to the doctor. Jonathan supposed this was still beneficial to the guard. The sofas allowed a perfect view of the entire entryway, a scout's wet dream of observation points.</p><p> </p><p>"I won't be long, Vincent. Behave."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, sir." He tipped his head and retreated back towards the seating area. It didn't fail to reach the doctor's ears as he passed by a group of ekons.</p><p> </p><p>"His servant smells sickly." A taller one with closely cropped hair sneered over his glass of blood. "I wouldn't want putrid blood like that in my diet."</p><p> </p><p>"I overheard that he was a doctor." His shorter companion added, a haughty tone seeped from his words. A breathy laugh. "Maybe it's an experiment. A <em> pet </em> project <em> ." </em> Their stifled laughter only irked Jonathan even more. It reminded him why he avoided most West End social functions if he had a choice. The knife edge commentary, the dual sided smiles. The carefully constructed masks that everyone wore and exchanged depending on the foe that stood before them and how much alcohol was in their glass that evening. Even the intimate moments between companions were laced with poison as they backstabbed and connived their ways through money and power. The hypocrisy was suffocating.</p><p> </p><p>It took quite a bit of patience for Jonathan to force himself to continue up those stairs to meet with Lord Redgrave. It still itched at the back of his mind, fretting over Vincent's safety in this place. They took precautions for a reason, Jonathan knew that but most ekons he has met lack a certain self restraint, especially when blood is involved.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was not impressed with the gaudy extravagance of the club's interior. The decor was over embellished for his tastes. He assumed they had more than enough money to toss around which only further sickened him, knowing that the city's populace was dying and suffering through plague and starvation while they sat upon their ornate thrones and watched the chaos from behind their neat little walls. From what he's heard about the club, they put Britain first.</p><p> </p><p>From what he's seen so far, they put <em> themselves </em>first.</p><p> </p><p>He concealed the grimace that surfaced and took a deep breath, clearing his mind to focus as he approached the thick curtains that concealed the meeting. They parted easily as he slowly entered, greeted by subtle smiles and nods from the scattered group of ekons that were drinking and chattering in hushed tones. All eyes quickly fell on him.</p><p> </p><p>"Good evening." One ekon bid, the sound drew the attention of a tall older man with gray hair. He stood beside a frail aged man with wire framed glasses who leaned heavily upon his cane. Grey eyes addressed Jonathan with a cynical smile before the man started to hobble towards the only seat in the room. There was a podium with an open book lying face up, and an urn that was treated like some holy relic, set on a mantle between two braziers. Only one was lit. Dead flowers were laid at the base of the urn like a memorial or a shrine. Needless to say, it piqued Jonathan's interest.</p><p> </p><p>"My good friends, if I may have your attention." The taller man, who Jonathan quickly assumed to be Lord Redgrave, stepped towards him with a regal air about him. His words were measured and dramatic as he commanded the room. "Behold our visitor, the good Dr. Reid. New born of blood so pure and strong that even my friend, Fergal Bansha was no match for him." </p><p> </p><p>The ekons around the room raised their chalices of blood in a toast. "Here, here." They called in unison, startling Jonathan just a little. It only further unnerved him.</p><p> </p><p>"Come forward, young Ekon, for we have so much to discuss!" Lord Redgrave beckoned him with a hand. A satisfied smile leveled on stoic features when Jonathan approached. He wasn't fond of the title that others beckoned to him. He was not some lost child.</p><p> </p><p>"Welcome to the Ascalon Club, Dr. Reid. I am Lord Redgrave, Earl of Bristol and chairman of this exclusive association." He stalked slowly past Jonathan, one arm tucked formally behind his back as he introduced himself. Jonathan humbled himself with a bow of reverence, feeding into the pompous charade. Lady Ashbury's warnings were still lively in the back of his thoughts. As much as it frustrated him, he needed information and he needed allies. Even if it means debasing himself with the likes of these men and playing along to their puppet schemes. At least for now.</p><p> </p><p>"Lord Redgrave…"</p><p> </p><p>"At last we meet...I've been eager to make your acquaintance. I've heard some astounding things about you." It caused Jonathan to glance up in puzzlement. Redgrave's words turned sympathetic. "Please accept my condolences for your loss, Dr. Reid."</p><p> </p><p>That wasn't what he was expecting to hear, and it only furthered his underlying irritation at the reminder. He knew their mother had placed the obituary in the paper upon Mary's death. Geoffrey had brought that very same paper down to the cells and shown him, accompanied by an extensive interrogation that was more accusation than questioning as Jonathan spilled every dark little detail about what happened. He didn't know that Mary had survived by the same curse he had, and neither did Geoffrey. He hoped that last part would remain as it was.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, My Lord." Jonathan spoke quietly, carefully choosing his words to skirt around the more unpleasant topics at hand. "Lady Ashbury expressed your wish to meet me."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," His tone was dismissive. "the Lady has always been a useful acquaintance, though not always reliable." Jonathan refused to be baited into a conversation of slander. "The centuries have taught me never to trust a woman completely, especially if she is immortal. Too prone to emotions if you ask me. Too fickle when it comes to important decisions."</p><p> </p><p>"My Lord, do not expect me to speak ill of Lady Ashbury." Jonathan warned politely, a firm stance on the subject. This line of conversation was not of the friendly type and he didn't feel inclined to debase the value of women of any status. His mother and his sister were kind and caring souls, strong women who stood their ground through the worst life could throw at them. He loved, adored and admired their generosity and their ability to weather every storm blown their way. He'd go so far even, to share that same sentiment with the nurses at Pembroke, who worked tirelessly just as any other doctor did, if not more so. Pembroke wouldn't have lasted as long as it had without their determination and devotion to their work.</p><p> </p><p>These were the narrow minded words of a man who hasn't seen the worst of war. Who hasn't had to rely on a <em> woman </em> to make a hard choice when triaging patients. Who hasn't had to fight to save a life while a <em> woman </em>assists through an emergency operation when neither of them have slept in the last thirty-two hours because the bodies keep coming in waves. Jonathan had the utmost respect for every woman he's ever had the pleasure and honor of working with and serving beside.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course not!" Redgrave backpedaled. "And I praise your loyalty. Would you offer the same fidelity to the Empire?"</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"I speak of this Skal plague that threatens London and the country. You have been on the front lines in the East End, but the time has come to open up a second front, here." There was that phrase again. Something about it rankled Jonathan to the core. People speak of the <em> front lines </em> as if it holds some honor or reverence. As if it builds the image of glory and triumph, and rallies the masses to a sudden rush of devotion. It was one thing hearing it in the medical sense between the staff at Pembroke, it was another to hear it spoken by a man who's never <em> experienced </em>that sort of hell and desperation. It made the doctor bristle with frustration.</p><p> </p><p>He carefully steered his attention toward the more pressing matter that the Lord was apparently trying to address through all his nonsense. It was getting irritating the more he realized immortals appeared to enjoy talking in circles and overly embellishing their statements to make them sound far more important than they really were. Either that, or it was nonsensical riddles. On those grounds alone, he empathized with Geoffrey's hatred to an extent. Why could nobody give him a straight answer? Maybe that was a sign that he was getting too old, or maybe he was just too accustomed to the short answered, barked orders of war. Where things were simplified for efficiency. And because the rest of them were too tired to process anything other than that.</p><p> </p><p>"The epidemic has escaped the quarantine? You have new cases of the outbreak?" These were the important questions he wanted to know the answers to and about the only <em> important </em> thing he suspected would be discussed at all this evening.</p><p> </p><p>"We don't know for certain, but we cannot allow the disease to threaten the prominent heads of Great Britain." Jonathan was very close to walking out at this point. This was insufferable. His patience was wearing thinner by the second.</p><p> </p><p>"Why have you asked me here?"</p><p> </p><p>"Because the crisis is escalating. Our enemies, the Guard of Priwen, have even launched an open hunt. The only way to calm things down is to put an end to the epidemic."</p><p> </p><p><em> 'Oh, the irony.' </em> Jonathan mused, knowing full well Vincent was downstairs doing whatever secondary task Geoffrey had asked of him. He didn't feel bad at all about it, it was hard not to when every second of standing here in Redgrave's presence was inching him closer to how enticing it would be to rip his claws into the ekon himself. At least it would silence his vulgar attitude and save him a headache. Alas, he had to behave, somewhat. Just for now. He did promise Geoffrey that much. He couldn't risk putting Vincent in even more danger, and Vukasin in extension.</p><p> </p><p>"You want me to find possible sources of the outbreak in the West End? Is that it?" This continuous speaking in circles was irritating.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, straight to the point like all eager new born. We shall have time to talk about all this, Dr. Reid." Lord Redgrave mused, stepping closer to the ekon with a smile. Jonathan was not amused in the slightest. He'd rather leave now and get to work doing something a hundred times more productive than this charade. "But first I should like to get to know you better."</p><p> </p><p><em> 'I'd rather not.' </em> Was Jonathan's first thought. This was far too personal for his comfort. The sudden drop in the Lord's voice made the doctor cringe inwardly, but he smothered the grimace that threatened to curl his lips.</p><p> </p><p>"Talk? Is that the only reason you asked me here?" He let the slightest tint of annoyance leak into his tone as he frowned. A firm acknowledgement that this direction of conversation was not welcome.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, no…" Lord Redgrave took a step back. "I also wanted to meet the intriguing Ekon who made such a powerful Progeny of his sister. You have not learned the name of your Maker, am I correct?"</p><p> </p><p>It was the mention of Mary that made Jonathan break the carefully formulated facade he had been trying to uphold this entire meeting. His lips curled back into a snarl as he bared his fangs in warning. "How dare you speak so flippantly of my family?" He growled, stepping closer to Redgrave, causing the man to retreat back a pace to keep his distance. The man was startled by the action, but replaced the look of shock with a nervous amusement. Like he had found an interesting challenge on his doorstep.</p><p> </p><p>"Have no embarrassment, Dr. Reid. We all make mistakes. But whatever your lineage, you're definitely Ascalon material." The pleased smile was a slimy expression that shared a dark promise. That whatever secrets were about to be unveiled, would certainly be something Jonathan wasn't going to be pleased about. And yet, that accursed curiosity of his drilled into his mind that he had to play along to discover what hidden troves Ascalon guarded. Like all good secret societies, there had to be more than a few dark corners in their gold tinted and polished little world of their own making.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean?" The question was guarded. Jonathan was still wary of their intentions. This whole situation felt unsettling from the start and their impromptu invitation would have more than a few strings attached. If he wanted to find out why, he had to dance to their song, no matter how badly he wanted to break free and walk out. He sucked it up and forced himself to wait out the explanation. He just hoped Vincent wasn't getting bored and starting trouble while this carried on.</p><p> </p><p>"I would like you to become a member of the Ascalon Club and to serve me as such."</p><p> </p><p><em> 'This sounds like you want me as a pet.' </em> Was what he wanted to say, and it was almost too amusing to consider the fact that, if anything, he was more likely to be Geoffrey's than Redgrave's. At least there was more interesting trouble to get into when it came to Priwen. He may have let the tiniest smile slip through at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was not a fool, despite what others may think. He had a series of questions that he wished to ask, to ensure he wasn't agreeing to some indentured servitude without realizing it. He wouldn't put it past them, honestly.</p><p> </p><p>The entire spiel was dull, if he was being honest. Just another club clamoring for importance that was beyond them, and serving a cause that didn't truly exist. The initiation process was embarrassing, if he was being honest. He didn't often find comfort in standing before large groups, or garnering the attention of so many people. The seminars he put on for his research were nerve wracking but he had been distracted by his passion, allowing him to shove off the anxiety it would have caused him otherwise. But here, he had no real distraction. Just the awkward motions of whatever ritual they concocted and Lord Redgrave who was far too close for comfort, looming over him with a hawk like gaze, repeating the need for tradition and how it was the backbone of the country.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan begged to differ but he accepted the quill and signed his name in the book. Somehow, it felt like making a deal with the devil, if it weren't for the fact he was pretty sure he had already met that specific entity. He was further disturbed by the display as Redgrave took the quill and tasted the blood that still stained the tip, relishing in it as if it were a fine vintage. </p><p> </p><p>He purred out. "Delightful." His pale gaze met Jonathan's with a twisted chilling smile. "Welcome to the Ascalon Club, Dr. Reid. Take your place among the bearers of the lance!" He directed as he stalked across the podium.</p><p> </p><p>"One of us! One of us!" They cheered with chalices raised.</p><p> </p><p>Were it not for the fact Jonathan had been on a steady diet of rat blood for the last two months, he would have been tempted by the scent of human blood that permeated the air. It made him wonder where they got their supply and dreaded that Ascalon may have some secret wine cellar of victims somewhere beneath their feet. He shoved the thought away, aware of the more paranoid ones that would quickly accompany it regarding Vincent's safety. He slipped into his ekon sight and searched for the guard's faster heartbeat. He found it, surrounded by three other more sluggish pulses.</p><p> </p><p>'<em> Dammit. </em>' He cursed silently and excused himself to leave. A few of the members tried to steer him away from the exit and pull him into curious conversation but the ekon refused to be stalled. "Excuse me, I must be going."</p><p> </p><p>"What's wrong?" One of the ekons asked, resting a firm hand on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing, I just have someone waiting for me downstairs."</p><p> </p><p>"Let them wait." Another brushed off.</p><p> </p><p>"They are my responsibility and my ward." Jonathan pressed firmly, his eyes narrowed on the ekons as he chided. They grimaced and drew away, allowing him his freedom to slip through the curtains.</p><p> </p><p>Vincent's heartbeat remained the same steady pace but that wouldn't mean much if one of them managed to mesmerize him into compliance. He took the steps quickly, catching the hint of his voice over the thrum of conversations around the room.</p><p> </p><p>"Dr. Reid is helping me manage my condition. He saved my life during the war." Vincent rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he spoke. "I owe him that."</p><p> </p><p>"Is that why you serve him then?" An ekon asked, perched on the sofa beside him with an empty chalice in hand. They had sandy blond hair swept up out of their face and an expensive maroon jacket. Their arm was looped around Vincent's shoulders, tucking the guard close to them with a disarming smile. Their fangs were in full view but Vincent was masterful at keeping his nervousness at bay.</p><p> </p><p>"You could say that." He chuckled. "He's a good man though. Honest and loyal. A good doctor too." His head bobbed in confirmation.</p><p> </p><p>"Hm, I bet he is. He must take <em> good </em> care of you then." It was no secret then, as Vincent's face burned red with embarrassment. He stumbled over the words he was going to say while the ekons burst out with laughter.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes widened when he noticed Jonathan approaching the group and seemed to bolt up from his seat with a look of relief. "Dr. Reid, sir." He smiled, far more genuine now than the one he wore earlier while entertaining the immortals.</p><p> </p><p>"It's time to go, Vincent. Come on." He ushered.</p><p> </p><p>"Does he have to?" The ekon that was sitting far too close to the guard for either of their comfort, asked. "He's a funny one."</p><p> </p><p>"That he is. But we need to go." Jonathan reached for Vincent's shoulder which the guard quickly obliged and fell into step beside him. The ekon darted to cut them off and smiled pointedly.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll buy him off of you." They offered quickly. "Name your price."</p><p> </p><p>"He's not for sale." Jonathan was disgusted, appalled even.</p><p> </p><p>"Everything has a price." The ekon pressed.</p><p> </p><p>"For God's sakes, he's a human being!" Jonathan blurted, the revulsion seeped into his tone. "He is not for sale." The words were final, leveled with a growl that dared the ekon to challenge his decision.</p><p> </p><p>"You really are a new born." The ekon hissed. Their words were mocking as they stepped aside with arms folded, eyeing the pair expectantly. "You'll learn soon enough how the world is run, young ekon." It was a dark promise that made Jonathan's hackles rise.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan didn't tear his eyes away from the vampire, his arm wrapped firmly around Vincent's shoulders until they were safely on the streets with Vukasin fast approaching.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Secrets Shared</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jonathan has a serious talk with Clarence.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jonathan.” Swansea’s voice filled the stillness of the office as the ekon hunched over his microscope, analyzing yet another blood sample. This one was from an ill formed skal he had crossed paths with in the West End on his way back from the Ascalon Club. He repeals his previous declaration about how terrible Sewer Beasts, other ekons and Vulkods are. Ill-formed skals are the absolute worst thing he has ever crossed paths with and he’s not just saying that because it projectile vomited all over him. Though that may have been part of the reason. That and the fact it’s large puss filled appendages explode like writhing grenades beneath the skin when any damage is inflicted upon them. The stench was bad enough to actually make him almost vomit after the fight ended. He managed to get a sample from what remained of the skal, which he had to more or less scrape off the alley wall. The fumes from its decaying corpse were vile and his clothing was beyond ruined. He had to burn them behind the morgue when he returned.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it Edgar?” He asked quietly, adjusting the lenses on his microscope until it was crystal clear. The sample was similar to those of past encounters, unstable and volatile, like a chemical reaction ready to blow at the slightest shake. He understood now why the mutations were becoming so vile and unhinged. The blood was breaking them down at an increasing pace, an advanced form of decay while they were still living, twisting pain into rabid aggression.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I was wondering how your investigation is going? Has there been any progress?” Jonathan could hear him fidgeting nervously behind him. The ekon didn’t even look up to address his question as he jotted down a few notes, adding to the long neatly scrawled script of observations he’s made thus far. He was still building the foundations for the bigger picture, hoping that eventually it will rear its ugly head. He had some questions to ask around the West End, which he intended to do tonight with the aid of Mr. Bonner and Mr. Babic. They caught wind of some recent disappearances that may have been related. Mr. Babic had filled him in on what news he had picked up while they were busy inside the club, wasting time to be precise.</p><p> </p><p>“Not quite but I may be on the trail for a lead. There are a few things I need to check in on.” Jonathan stated simply, setting his pen aside, the body was marred and marked up by his fangs and the anxious hours of abusive chewing he put the outer capsule through. Needless to say it was possibly his favorite pen. He sat up straight, balancing on the tall barstool as he stretched his arms above his head, relishing in the pleasant pop that sounded in his back and throughout his shoulders as he flexed.</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Swansea swallow anxiously by his side as he rounded to stand in the doctor’s line of sight. “Jonathan, I am concerned for your safety. The Guard of Priwen has been relentless. They’ve been patrolling more frequently near the hospital. From what I’ve been informed, Geoffrey McCullum has issued another Great Hunt and I’m afraid that your name may be on their list.”</p><p> </p><p><em> ‘Oh Edgar.’ </em>Jonathan sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll be more careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jonathan, please.” Edgar pleaded, watching as the doctor stood up from his stool and moved towards the door where his newest coat was hanging, his belongings already put in their neat order within the many pockets. This was the fourth coat he’s gone through in two months. He was beginning to think he should invest in a private tailor at this point. It would be far less tedious at least. He never expected immortality would be so hard on his apparel.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re my friend.” He reached out to rest his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, a far reach given their height difference and the awkward angle. Jonathan perked a brow up and offered a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to lose you, Jonathan. Pembroke needs you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will be careful, Edgar. I promise. I have more than my fair share of experience in avoiding McCullum’s war dogs.” He adjusted the scarf around his neck and drew the pair of leather gloves from his pockets. The evening was getting colder as snow fell in fat flakes. It had settled for a few days, the worst of the snow had begun to melt only to return with a coming storm on the horizon. “Everything should calm down once this epidemic ceases.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do hope so, my dear fellow.” Swansea sighed. He watched from the doorway as Jonathan stepped towards the balcony and peered around the corners to ensure none of his coworkers were taking an evening walk. His ekon sight scanned the corners to find them clear. He shut his office door behind himself then dropped to the cobblestones below. He had gotten into the habit of placing sand on the area beneath his balcony to avoid any further slips and spills, having learned his lesson from enough impromptu falls.</p><p> </p><p>The trip to the West End was uneventful. By now, Jonathan had a mental layout built in his mind of how Priwen’s patrols were typically orchestrated, and the men who did cross his path were usually easy enough to avoid. Their efforts to apprehend him weren’t so easy, and he was extra careful since his last close call. He did owe his life to Geoffrey that day, if it weren’t for the hunter he may have permanently expired that night.</p><p> </p><p>The weather was just bad enough that Jonathan’s efforts to find someone who may have noticed anything strange in the area, were all stuck indoors. His hopes that one or two folks still walked the streets despite common sense, was slim to none. It would seem everyone had their wits about them tonight, which left him mildly frustrated. He couldn’t exactly go door to door at this hour, but it was early enough to drop in on one person who may have noticed something off.</p><p> </p><p>He knocked on the door and took a cautious step back while he waited patiently for an answer. He had been expecting Clarence at the door, but instead was met with his wife Venus. Her blonde hair was still neatly pinned up out of her face and she wore a flattering black gown with a strand of pearls adorning her neck.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh! Jonathan, it's you!" Venus' eyes widened in shock as she shuffled to open the door more. "Come in. Please. Clarence is still asleep upstairs I'm afraid."</p><p> </p><p>"My apologies for showing up so late, Venus. How have you been?" He wiped his shoes on the door mat and entered the comforting warmth of the home. He inhaled slowly, taking in the familiar scents that accompanied his old friends. Venus' perfume laced with the light floral notes of a fresh bouquet of flowers on the entry table. The smell of fresh baked goods from a hot oven and the lighter more personal scent that told him Clarence had come through in the last few hours. He recognized his steady heart beat as he slept upstairs, the quiet shuddering then thump that was a little bit off compared to a normal beat. Jonathan suspected he had heart problems for a long time, a subtle difference to others. As an ekon, he only noticed it now when his friend was resting and not his usual anxious paranoid self.</p><p> </p><p>"I've been doing good. Clarence told me you had returned. We were so worried, Jonathan." She folded her hands in front of herself, her voice softening in sympathy. "My condolences about your sister."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you Venus." He sighed, glancing down at the floor in an attempt to avoid those saddened eyes. Mary and Venus had been close as well, and they both stood up for the couple's wedding. "Has Clarence been feeling well? He's not the type to be asleep so early."</p><p> </p><p>"He has been staying up all hours of night since his return I'm afraid." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He's obsessed with chimeras or vampires or some nonsense like that." She sighed wistfully. "I wish he would have just told me the truth about what happened instead of inventing these elaborate lies."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan could sympathize with her frustration but as much as it pained him, Clarence was right. He was telling the truth. Of course he didn't expect Venus to understand. "Some men experience severe trauma and the only way they can come to terms with what happened to them is through creative fantasies. Clarence is dealing with it in the only way he knows how. Please, be patient with him Venus."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't mean to be crude, Jonathan but I've done my wifely duty. I've paid my dues to this damn war. You've no idea what it's like, Jonathan. To go each day and not know if I'm going to be a widow or not. I was so happy when Clarence returned. I know I'm lucky but if I'm being honest, some days I wish he had just died on that battlefield." The words were so bitter. Jonathan could see the tears welling up in her eyes before she blinked them away quickly. "I'm sorry. Would you like some tea? I was about to make some for Clarence. He should be up shortly."</p><p> </p><p>"No thank you. I was only stopping by for a moment." Jonathan watched her carefully as she stepped away towards the kitchen, her heartbeat was nervous and quickened at the mention of the tea. The anxiety that settled into her body language as she fidgeted, fingers wringing together the more she talked was concerning. The bitter scent that permeated the air, it wasn't quite <em> fear </em>but something similar. Dread? Anticipation? He couldn't put his finger on it but it sent alarm bells sounding off in the back of his mind. "I was hoping to speak with Clarence but I won't bother him if he's still asleep."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p> </p><p>He smiled reassuringly and nodded. "Yes. I may come back another day when I'm not so busy. I've been investigating the epidemic in the area." He perked up as a thought came to him. "Actually, have you noticed anything strange going on?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not that I can recall, I'm afraid." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jonathan."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you anyway, Venus." He sighed. "I should get going. Take care."</p><p> </p><p>"Do come back and visit again. Preferably at an earlier hour." She added.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan made his way back to the porch and parted quietly. Slipping into his second sight was easy enough as he ensured Venus was away from the doors and windows. He pulled on the shadows around him, wrapping his body in their camouflage as he followed her nervous heartbeat through the house. His gaze fixed on her as he approached the back porch and peered through the window. She had just donned an apron and resumed whatever it was Jonathan had interrupted earlier. A plate of warm pastries sat on the table to cool while she made tea.</p><p> </p><p>"You really leave me with no choice, Clarence." She spoke quietly to herself, just loud enough for Jonathan's heightened sense of hearing to catch her spiteful words. She reached into her pocket and pulled a small black bottle from within. It wasn't labeled but Jonathan wasn't foolish enough to believe whatever it contained was harmless. Her heart raced with a thrill as she poured a few drops into the bottom of a teacup and smiled to herself. "I'd rather be a widow than be married to a laughing stock."</p><p> </p><p>She placed the bottle back into her pocket with a mumble sigh. "I'm all out." Shaking her head, she glanced up towards the parlor as Clarence started to move around upstairs. "I hope you enjoy your tea my love."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan startled, swiftly making his way back towards the front of the house as he listened for Clarence's footsteps on the stairs. He dismissed the shadows, letting them fall away and reveal his presence. He had to time it just right to get his attention. When Clarence hit the bottom of the stairs near the entrance, Jonathan knocked quickly. The man veered from his path towards the kitchen to address his intrusion, slowly opening the door to greet him with bleary eyes and messy hair.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonny?" His brows furrowed in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>"May we speak, Clarence? I have something important to speak with you about, old friend."</p><p> </p><p>"Of course. Come in."</p><p> </p><p>"No." It came rushed, too quickly for comfort as Jonathan reeled back his panic. He sighed. "Privately." He added. "Do you mind if we take a walk?"</p><p> </p><p>"Clarence?" Venus called, peering around the doorway of the kitchen when she spotted the door open and Jonathan huddled on the porch. The doctor didn't miss the scowl that flitted across her face, the slight look of annoyance that she carefully covered with a smile. "Ah, Jonathan! You're back already."</p><p> </p><p>"Indeed and by luck, I've managed to catch Clarence awake." He forced a smile.</p><p> </p><p>"Why don't you come in out of the cold?" Venus offered. "I just made tea."</p><p> </p><p>"No thank you, Venus. Really." He assured. "I was hoping to speak with Clarence." The pleading look he directed at his friend had not gone unnoticed. Clarence shifted uneasily by the door, regarding Jonathan's pained expression. "<em> Please </em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, Jonny. Let me get my coat."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you." It was a rush of air that escaped his lungs suddenly. He stepped away from the doorway and waited as Clarence closed the door behind him. The chill of the evening didn't bother him but he adjusted his scarf if only to keep his hands busy with something. Inside he could make out the muffled sounds of the pair arguing. More so, Venus was upset and Clarence was busy trying to excuse his sudden need to leave.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "He's my friend, Venus." </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> "So you're just going to leave me here in the middle of the night again!" </em>She sounded disgusted.</p><p> </p><p><em> "Venus-" </em>Clarence sounded hurt.</p><p> </p><p><em> "Just go, Clarence." </em>She snapped.</p><p> </p><p>There was shuffling as Clarence approached the door and slipped out into the shadows of the porch to join Jonathan. "Are you alright?" He asked softly, concern written across his face.</p><p> </p><p>"It's alright. Venus is just upset with me. It seems like nothing I do anymore makes her happy." He lamented.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, Clarence."</p><p> </p><p>"No need to worry Jonny. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" Clarence looked at him expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>"Not here." Jonathan shook his head and started down the steps with care. "A walk." He offered. "I need to figure out how exactly I'm going to tell you this."</p><p> </p><p>Clarence joined him at the bottom of the steps as they made their way through the narrow alley out to the main street of the West End. "You know you can tell me anything, Jonny. You're my best friend."</p><p> </p><p>"I understand, Clarence. I guess I'm nervous. A bit apprehensive."</p><p> </p><p>"Take your time. Shall we go to the park then?" Clarence settled a reassuring hand on Jonathan's shoulder as he smiled. It was so familiar, a shadow of the past that rushed up on him without warning. He felt at ease in that moment, as if the old Clarence had surfaced briefly.</p><p> </p><p>True to his word, Clarence let Jonathan think it over while they walked. They made their way to Temple Garden Park and stuck to the well lit paths that curved and over lapped. Only when they were in the heart of the park at the edge of a bridge, far from any prying eyes and dangers that Jonathan finally seized the courage to speak his mind. He had been battling with himself over this decision for some time, since the night he returned to the West End and saw the remains of his broken life gathered in one place. The hardest part about this whole existence he found himself in was the loneliness and the lies he had to keep.</p><p> </p><p>He needed understanding. He couldn't rely on Geoffrey to be the only ally through this living hell he found himself in. And Clarence already knew half of the truth. He took a deep breath, an unnecessary preparation but it still soothed his nervousness.</p><p> </p><p>"Clarence, I-" He started then stopped, fidgeting anxiously as he curled his fingers by his sides. Clarence turned to face him with a look of concern.</p><p> </p><p>"Take your time." Clarence reminded, his voice was so gentle. His eyes so understanding. This was <em> Clarence, </em> the man who Jonathan spent most of his formative years with. His best friend in the entire world, and the only person who has had his back since day one. He divulged his trust in Jonathan already, begged him for his support. For him to <em> believe. </em> If anyone could be trusted with this dark and unholy secret, it was Clarence.</p><p> </p><p>"I-" He couldn't make the words come out. His voice died in his throat as fear and apprehension turned into gnarled barbs that tore at his insides and refused him the utterance. He closed his eyes and scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. "I have a secret."</p><p> </p><p>He finally made some headway, changing direction in his approach. "I didn't spend an additional month in France."</p><p> </p><p>"What? What are you talking about?" Clarence looked perplexed.</p><p> </p><p>"I was here, in London, the entire time."</p><p> </p><p>"Jonny?" Clarence's puzzlement only grew as he watched Jonathan remove his gloves and fold them into his pockets.</p><p> </p><p>He met his best friend's gaze as he held a hand up for Clarence to see. His fangs elongated as his fingers transformed into blackened shadowy claws. "I'm a vampire, Clarence. The night I returned to London I was turned." He bared his teeth into a mockery of a snarl, allowing his friend to see the monster he had become at the fullest. Clarence took an uncertain step back, an unreadable expression twisted up his pale face as he retreated another pace.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan reached out to stop him when Clarence tripped on the uneven ground, distorted by the blanket of snow that piled against the walkway. The ekon shifted in a blur of shadows, reappearing at Clarence's back, his very human hands catching him before he could hit the ground and hurt himself. Clarence grappled a fist into the front of Jonathan's coat, caught between pushing him away and holding on for dear life.</p><p> </p><p>With their new position, Clarence could see the very real fangs that protruded from Jonathan's lips. "Oh god, Jonny!"</p><p> </p><p>"Please don't panic." Jonathan pleaded. "I won't hurt you, Clarence. I promise." He gently guided Clarence to steady his feet before stepping a comfortable distance away. He averted his gaze and shifted uneasily. "I don't feed from people." </p><p> </p><p>In that moment, Jonathan had never felt so small in his life. He prepared himself for the outrage. For the pain. He wouldn't blame his friend if he thought him the monster that he was, especially after what Clarence saw in Rouen.</p><p> </p><p>He heard his friend move, taking one unsteady step after another towards him. Jonathan didn't look up from glaring at the ground as if it had offended him somehow. Anything was better than seeing that look in his friend's eye. He felt sick. He already regretted this decision but the damage was already done.</p><p> </p><p>"Clarence-"</p><p> </p><p>"It's alright Jonny." His voice was so soft, so quiet next to Jonathan's ear as he pulled the doctor into a surprising hug. This wasn't how he thought it would go. With uncertainty, he slowly lifted his arms and returned the embrace. As the seconds passed, Jonathan squeezed Clarence into a tight hug and buried his face into his friend's shoulder. He felt so warm against Jonathan, the welcome familiar pressure of companionship was something he desperately missed, long before his turning and before the war. He wanted this, badly. To be accepted and to find a comrade in this nightmare that wasn't part of some unseen holy war.</p><p> </p><p>"You aren't afraid of me?" Clarence's pulse was quick but Jonathan didn't smell fear on him. Excitement, maybe. Nervousness, definitely. But not fear. The bitterness of its odor didn't curl from Clarence in the slightest. It was an overwhelming relief.</p><p> </p><p>"I'd never be afraid of you, Jonathan. You're my best mate." Clarence reassured, drawing away just enough so he could look the doctor in the eyes. His hands rested on Jonathan's shoulders as he smiled. "I can't believe this. Wow, I just-" he cut himself off as he looked at Jonathan and focused primarily on his fangs. "Those are real." It wasn't a question but the doctor nodded nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>"They're not as fascinating as you'd think." Jonathan answered with a tired sigh. "They get in the way all the time. You have no idea how many times I've cut myself on them!" He shook his head as Clarence laughed, a nervous sound of disbelief as he tilted his head and smiled. "I found out that newborn vampires go through a state of teething. <em> Teething </em> Clarence! You have no idea how embarrassing it is."</p><p> </p><p>"Only you, Jonny." He shook his head and laughed. "You're a blood specialist."</p><p> </p><p>"Believe me, I am aware of the irony. I've been told that my maker has a twisted sense of humor."</p><p> </p><p>"Your maker?"</p><p> </p><p>"Don't ask. They're as cryptic as they are infuriating." Clarence chuckled and took a step back to get a better look at his friend.</p><p> </p><p>"So, you spent an entire month….learning to live again?"</p><p> </p><p>"I wouldn't quite use the word <em> live </em>as a way to describe my current status but I have had a bit of trouble learning how to exist like this. It doesn't exactly come with a manual." Jonathan stated bluntly, his amusement riding under his weary statement. "I've at least learned that I can feed on rats instead of people."</p><p> </p><p>"Rats?" Clarence was incredulous.</p><p> </p><p>"Mmhmm." He hummed. "They're as disgusting now as they were in the trenches."</p><p> </p><p>"Eewww! Jonny!"</p><p> </p><p>"What? Don't tell me you never ate a rat." Jonathan narrowed his eyes at his friend with incredulous scrutiny.</p><p> </p><p>"I did but I didn't want to be reminded of it." Clarence blurted, giving him a playful little shove. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan easily yielded to the gesture and chuckled. "I suppose this makes us even to some extent."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, so here's what I'm going to be doing from now on.</p><p>I will be updating ONE fic at a time, including TPC and Captivation. ONE fic update per night.<br/>I am juggling Captivation, The Priwen Chronicles, The Legend of Bat Reid and now The Night Life.</p><p>Speaking of new fics. </p><p>The Night Life is my newest project, and the one I've been throwing myself into the most recently as it hits near and dear to my heart and my passion.</p><p>It is a Modern AU involving Geoffrey and Jonathan, where each chapter switches between their POV's. It is a pet project, where Jonathan partakes in a Dom/Sub relationship with Geoffrey at the persuasion of Clarence, thinking it would do Jonathan some good to focus on something other than his work life. It is a slow burn build for their relationship, both in a romantic sense and a professional sense as Geoffrey carefully introduces Jonathan to the world of BDSM and all it has to offer. It is BDSM done properly, with safewords, precautions, aftercare and carefully formulated scenes and contracts between the pair. This is a passion of mine and I have spoken to several different people on their personal experiences, their Dom/Sub relationships and done extensive research into kinks, play types, dynamics, etc to make it as realistic as possible. </p><p>I highly recommend that you check it out. It also features our boys from TPC and Captivation, so if you want more Vincent, Vuka, O'Connor, Francach, McKinley and Gertrude content, that is the place to go.</p><p>Thank you so much for everyone that has been sticking with this story so far. I've had a blast working on it and it's so much fun. I have not abandoned it. I'm just procrastinating slightly because the next few chapters have required me to research and watch certain scenes, or replay areas of the game which have required extensive time to do. My apologies for the wait. In the meantime, I do encourage you to check out The Night Life and if you haven't given them a chance yet, The Legend of Bat Reid! Some of the fics have fanart added to them from lovely readers and artists.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Violence in Motion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is after Chapter 22 of The Priwen Chronicles and before Chapter 23</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How's the investigation goin?" It was a rare sight to find McCullum in the West End of his own accord, but Jonathan didn't mind the company as the hunter sidled up beside him on his walk. The weather was calm tonight, with only the occasional light sprinkling of snow as it passed. There were more people wandering about which soothed the itch that Jonathan felt compelled to scratch. He was uneasy ever since he spoke to Clarence the night before. Not because of his friend's reaction. No, they sat and talked for a long time about his affliction, and even retired to Jonathan's home where it was warm and the doctor felt more comfortable. </p><p> </p><p>It was what he hadn't told Clarence that was concerning him.</p><p> </p><p>"Good. I have a lead to look into later." Jonathan answered. Clarence had told him about the Mullaneys. A house that was usually so lively and full of bustling people, a family with five children no less. Now it sat dark and quiet, far too quiet for anyone's liking but with the epidemic, nobody dared inquire about their safety.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey nodded in understanding. "So what are you off doing right now?" He inspected the doctor with a critical eye. Jonathan had been cycling his usual rounds, having slept at his childhood home for the day. Clarence had left in the early hours of morning, but the doctor was fearful for his safety nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>"I have a private matter to address." He stated simply. His eyes locked onto the single heartbeat he had been following for half an hour now. It was only by luck that he noticed Venus making her way through the quiet dark streets alone. He had intended to confront her but when the moment arose, he was thwarted by lingering civilians and overly exposed areas.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey seemed to follow his line of sight before frowning. "You have that look in your eye." The hunter stated warily.</p><p> </p><p>"This does not involve you, Geoffrey." Jonathan pressed as he trailed Venus' figure where she entered a darkened shop. Only a single light went on inside. Jonathan could see two heartbeats on the other side of the glass windows. Venus' was elevated, nervous or maybe guilty? No, not quite. It was something darker. Some sick thrill she enjoyed at the thought. She felt empowered and that made Jonathan's blood boil.</p><p> </p><p>He leaned against the corner of the alley and waited. She flitted to two other shops along the street, picking up groceries as if she wasn't plotting some nefarious end for his best friend. Jonathan snarled, a low inhuman sound that put the hunter on edge.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan." Geoffrey implored but the doctor ignored him.</p><p> </p><p>"Leave Geoffrey." He warned coldly.</p><p> </p><p>"Not until you tell me what's going on." The hunter pressed, taking a step towards the doctor but he avoided the approach with a dart of shadows. Geoffrey cursed and whirled around in the alley, eyes searching the alcoves and corners for Jonathan. The doctor lingered unseen just beyond the hunter's reach as he waited.</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey was forced to tuck out of view when Venus returned. This alley was a shortcut, both of them knew it. It was quiet, far from prying eyes and Jonathan's only chance for answers. She brushed past him without any notice, humming a song in her throat without a care in the world. The shadows fell away in wisps and curls as he spoke firmly.</p><p> </p><p>"Venus."</p><p> </p><p>She startled, nearly dropping the paper bags she held in her arms. Whirling around, she let out a relieved exhale and smiled. To anyone unaware, it would have looked genuine and friendly. But Jonathan had grown wise to the mask she wore. How twisted up she had become while they were away. How cruel her heart truly was.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Jonathan dear. You gave me a fright." She sighed, drawing out the dramatic edge to her soft and velvety voice. A sickly sweet note that had soothed Clarence's fears once upon a time, that called like a siren song to his heart and promised <em> til death do us part </em> at the altar. It was death that would part them, but not in the way either would have expected.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" Jonathan stepped closer, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. She jolted, the hurt and confusion flashing across her face.</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean, Jonathan? I'm shopping for Clarence."</p><p> </p><p>"Does your shopping list always include poison, Venus?" His words were venomous.</p><p> </p><p>"What?" She feigned ignorance. Jonathan refused to play this game with her.</p><p> </p><p>"I saw you poisoning Clarence's tea last night." The words hit their mark, shattering that carefully crafted veneer of the adoring and loyal housewife. Jonathan hated himself for not seeing the signs but he never thought such betrayal would come so close to home. How run down Clarence looked, the pallor and lack of appetite, his weakness and clumsiness. Even the unnatural rhythm of his heartbeat. "How long? How long have you been killing him?"</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes sharpened as she stepped towards the doctor, her delicate gait no longer present. Her fragile disposition covered up. Even the false tears in her eyes were blinked away as she shed the act she had skillfully been hiding behind for so long.</p><p> </p><p>"You have no idea what I've had to endure since he came home from the war. Chasing imaginary vampires and staying out all hours of the night. He spent his entire pension to distribute those ridiculous fliers. I had tried to talk some sense into him but he was adamant and then you returned, and you encouraged his insanity." She spat the words at Jonathan as if it were all the reason in the world to kill her own husband. The man she loved. Or so she claimed. "We're a laughing stock, Jonathan. I refuse to let Clarence humiliate me any longer."</p><p> </p><p>"If things were so bad, why didn't you just leave him?"</p><p> </p><p>"And be shamed out of my home? No. Clarence's madness has reached the end. It'll be a mercy." She snapped. "I'll take what's left as rightfully mine."</p><p> </p><p>"I won't let you get away with this, Venus." It was a dark promise.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't you dare threaten <em> me </em> Jonathan. I've done my research. The poison I used is untraceable." There was a curve of amusement in her voice as she practically gloated as if she had already gotten away with it. Jonathan saw red, he stepped towards her, crowding her back against the cold stone wall of the alley. An inhuman snarl filtered out, undeniably loud to their ears. His lips curled back as he bared his fangs in a monstrous growl.</p><p> </p><p>"Clarence isn't mad." He spat out. "There are worse things hiding in the dark, Venus. Things like <em> me </em>." Her eyes widened in horror, the bag fell from her grasp as the contents spilled out. In a rush of movement, Geoffrey emerged from his hiding spot and approached Jonathan from behind. The muscles in his back spasmed, his senses flared with the incoming threat but he held his ground and kept Venus caged between him and the wall.</p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan." Geoffrey barked sharply. "Don't do it."</p><p> </p><p>"I told you to leave, hunter." He growled over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>"You know I can't do that." Geoffrey warned. "Don't make me hurt you, Jonathan."</p><p> </p><p>"Please. Don't kill me." Venus whispered, trembling lips and teary eyes pleading to Geoffrey for help.</p><p> </p><p><em> "Silence!" </em> Jonathan snarled, drawing a terrified whimper from the woman.</p><p> </p><p>"She's not worth it, Jonathan. You'll be throwing everything you worked for away." Geoffrey reminded. "Think about Mary. <em> Your promise </em>."</p><p> </p><p>His lips curled back into a grimace, giving Venus a good long look at the fangs that protruded from his gums. He raked his claws against the stone, leaving deep gouges near her head. He wanted her to be afraid, to understand what it's like to look death in the eyes and see it snarling back at you. He wanted her to understand what Clarence saw. To know what true madness feels like, when nobody else in the world believes you. To get a taste of how lonely that little corner of hell truly was.</p><p> </p><p>"No amount of perfume or pearls will ever cover up your rotting heart." He hissed into her ear and revelled in the tears that streamed down her face. He was not a cruel man, but some days, the hypocrisy and evil of humanity brings out the monster in him. "If anything happens to Clarence, I will hunt you down myself."</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Jonathan!" </em> Geoffrey snapped. The doctor could feel the tip of the stake pressing against his spine, the final warning from his companion. </p><p> </p><p>"I've said my piece." He held his hands up in surrender and let his claws recede back to normal. Quietly, he waited for Geoffrey to follow suit. When the stake was tucked out of sight, they both retreated from the alley leaving Venus behind. It wasn't until they were tucked away in one of the back streets too far into the quarantine zone for anyone to stray that Geoffrey spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>He had the doctor shoved against a wall with a furious look on his face. His eyes were cold and disbelieving. "What the fuck was that?!" He practically shouted as the doctor slumped against the brickwork, boneless and drained.</p><p> </p><p>"I was protecting my best friend." Jonathan's voice was too quiet compared to the growing rage that rolled through the hunter like a storm.</p><p> </p><p>"Were you going to kill her? Tell me the truth, now." Geoffrey demanded. "Did it cross your mind at all, that that was a possibility?"</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged, because that was all he had to offer. Yes, the thought had crossed his mind but so had many other thoughts in his life that were just as dark and intrusive. Thinking did not lead to acting and he was by no means recklessly impulsive enough to end a life like that. Mary was the one and only time he had failed, and he refused to revisit that entire issue. "What would you have done?"</p><p> </p><p>There was a pregnant silence before Geoffrey spoke coldly. "Not that."</p><p> </p><p>"I can <em> smell </em>the sickness on him, McCullum!" Jonathan snapped, stepping towards the hunter before Geoffrey forced him back into the wall with a firm arm across his chest. They both knew that if Jonathan wanted to, he could force Geoffrey away. He could break bones and rend flesh. It was only by the grace of their growing relationship that either remained unarmed and faithful in the other's ability to control themselves. There was still that underlying trust that was building between them with each passing day. "I can see him dying. Imagine, for just one moment, what that's like."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't have to." Geoffrey said bluntly. They both knew what Geoffrey meant and Jonathan bit back the apology that balanced on his tongue. Instead, he hung his head and sighed. He was exhausted. Any motivation to continue his investigation had left him. </p><p> </p><p>"What would you have done if you slipped up?" Geoffrey asked quietly, his voice low now. Pleading for some ounce of truth from the doctor, about the repercussions and if he had actually considered what they would be. It made Jonathan sick to his stomach, burying the cold blade of doubt into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>"I would have let you end my life in that alley." He admitted softly.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you think that's something I want to do?" Jonathan couldn't ignore the hurt in Geoffrey's words. He refused to meet his eyes, his head turned away to stare at the wall behind the hunter. His jaw tightened as he sagged against the stones. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p> </p><p>"That's not good enough." Geoffrey growled.</p><p> </p><p>"I know that. I just-" He ran a hand over his face as he shook his head. Geoffrey took a step back, releasing Jonathan from his hold. His legs felt weak as he slowly slid down the wall as if the hunter were the only thing that had kept him upright. "I felt so helpless. He's my best friend and she just-"</p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey loomed over Jonathan, a shadow of a sentinel that judged his actions and doled out the appropriate punishment. He was the firm hand on the end of his chain, demanding some level of obedience and loyalty. Jonathan would give everything he had to the hunter, if it meant he didn't feel this way anymore. The world was cruel and humanity continued to bare its worst around every corner. Tender smiles hid sharp teeth, gentle hands poured poison down the throats of the unwary. Sweet promises were laced with venom and those tasked with protecting the masses selected a chosen deserving few to aid while the rest were left to rot. <em> Sacrifices. </em> </p><p> </p><p>He was sick and tired of hearing that word.</p><p> </p><p>"You're angry." Geoffrey supplied as he lowered himself to a crouch before the ekon. "You have a right to be but that doesn't mean you should act on it." He sighed. "Take it from someone who knows, the cost isn't worth it."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, Geoffrey. For not leaving." He meant it. He let himself be blinded by anger. He didn't regret what he did, not to Venus anyway. His only regret was forcing Geoffrey's hand and putting him in that horrible position. Jonathan reached out for the hunter's hand, a tiny brush of fingers against the back of Geoffrey's knuckles. The hunter let a small reassuring smile grace his lips as he turned into the searching touch and wrapped Jonathan's cold fingers into his palm.</p><p> </p><p>"You're welcome, Reid."</p><p> </p><p>"Would it be appropriate of me to ask that you stay? Just for tonight." Jonathan asked sheepishly, a pleading look shadowing those pale blue eyes. "I don't think I can stand to be alone right now."</p><p> </p><p>"Hm, I think that can be arranged." Geoffrey chuckled and moved to stand, pulling Jonathan with him by the hand. "But only if we go someplace warmer. I don't fancy freezing my arse off."</p><p> </p><p>"I believe that can be arranged." Jonathan hummed as he rose to his feet and stooped down to steal the briefest kiss. He was aware of the legal implications should they be caught, but there was nobody wandering these dark streets and he was in the mood for easy thrills and dangerous choices.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Tempting Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is after chapter 24 of TPC. Please read 24 before reading this.</p><p>Jonathan and Geoffrey retreat to Reid Manor to clean up and tend to injuries with an unintended surprise in store.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As you are probably aware of, my update schedule will significantly slow. </p><p>I've recently started on an original story project involving my OC's including Vinny, Vuka, Bishop, McKinley, Gertrude and O'Connor (Francach). This project may take up more of my time than expected so updates will slow. I'm not sure if I'll post the original works on AO3. I'm not sure if anyone would he interested to read it or not since most original content doesn't get very much attention on here. </p><p>Thank you for all the wonderful comments on the fics so far! They are lovely as is all the beautiful fanart!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ill-formed skals still remained at the top of Jonathan’s list of most hated creatures of blood in existence. Tonight’s dilemma was no different as he and Geoffrey engaged in a disgusting series of combat only to come out on top but still somehow in defeat. The rotting stench still filled his nostrils and nearly gagged him any time he lingered too long on it with quiet acknowledgement. The drawn silence between them only made the discomfort more insufferable as he tried to find some distraction from his displeasure.</p><p> </p><p>He was immensely pleased in knowing his home was right around the corner and it was a quick jump to the balcony outside his bedroom door as they slipped inside in the quiet night. He steadied Geoffrey where he stood and peered through the adjacent window to his own to find his mother was sound asleep in her bed already. It was a relief to him, assured that they would have no disruptions this evening.</p><p> </p><p>It was a comedic scene as they shucked off layers of tattered, ruined and reeking clothing to lie in a designated heap on the floor. Each piece peeled off with a disgustingly wet noise that left a slimy residue against their skin. The ekon elected to breath through his mouth to avoid gagging and made his way into the bathroom to prepare a hot bath for them both.</p><p> </p><p>When he returned, Geoffrey was almost finished getting undressed with only his undergarments to cover himself with when Jonathan directed him to take a seat. Doing this blind was a dangerous guessing game that could endanger nerves and muscles but being an ekon eased any apprehension Jonathan felt as he directed Geoffrey to hold a heavy encyclopedia with his wounded arm and keep it level. With a carefully placed direction and the appropriately applied pressure, he sunk the joint back into the socket. </p><p> </p><p>Geoffrey stifled a scream and swallowed it down with a pained groan. His fingers gripped the book until his knuckles were white as he breathed in sharp pulls to ward off the pain he felt. "Thanks." He grunted through clenched teeth and slowly stood up. He handed the book back off to Jonathan as the doctor nodded. </p><p> </p><p>"The bath should be ready. You go first."</p><p> </p><p>"Not comin with me?" Geoffrey teased.</p><p> </p><p>"I wouldn't want to impede on your privac-"</p><p> </p><p>"Cut the shite Reid." Geoffrey growled, reaching out with his good hand to curl into the front of the ekon's white dress shirt. "I've got a busted wing and you know we've both seen each other more than enough up til now. Come on. It'll be quicker."</p><p> </p><p>"Well- I..if you insist- I mean-" He clipped his words short and hummed in his throat with a disgruntled noise. Confusion flitted across his usually reserved features until he gave in with a sigh of defeat. "Alright then."</p><p> </p><p>Technically speaking, the bath wasn't designed for two grown men to share but they made due with some careful adjusting and limbs woven together in odd positions that felt far more intimate than was socially acceptable. Jonathan was thankful he lacked the biological capacity to blush otherwise his face would be cherry red at the moment as he adjusted around the very prominent position of Geoffrey's leg against his inner thigh.</p><p> </p><p>The water was pleasantly warm, enough so that even Jonathan could appreciate it in comparison to the bitter cold weather outside. The satisfying sensation of feeling <em> clean </em>was a godsend as they scrubbed away the evidence of their battle and replaced the foul stench of decay with the light and airy fragrances from the oatmeal lavender goats milk soap. It soothed the senses, eased the mind and muscles and relaxed the body all at once. So much so, Jonathan was starting to grow concerned when Geoffrey tipped his head back with a soft sigh. His heart beat steadied to a slower pace that could be mistaken for a sleep rhythm as the man relaxed against the rim of the tub.</p><p> </p><p>It was easy to get lost in the moment as he observed the hunter in all his vulnerability. The lowered guard as muscles sedated under the tempered water. The steady beat of his heart and the soothing slower pace of every breath. The softened curves to the hard edges of his face, the relaxed set of his jaw as his head tipped back. The damp wayward strands of his hair plastered messily across his forehead where they dipped down in haphazard curls. The years of scars mapped across muscle and the healthy presence of softer seal fat that overlapped his belly. The sharp angles of his hips meeting strong thighs thick with muscle and darkened by older fading wounds. Jonathan wanted to touch and inspect every inch of the hunter in a sudden hunger for knowledge. To study the landscape of his body, the hard planes and darkened valleys that told of secrets and a rough history of fighting the entire world. </p><p> </p><p>He wanted to trace those razor edges and feel them soften under tender fingertips, or maybe he wanted to be cut by them all over again. To taste the coppery tinge of blood on his tongue in a battle of dominance. He would willingly submit beneath the hunter's blade, a body eager to yield before him but Jonathan knew Geoffrey was not a man to take victory easily. It wasn't worthwhile if it wasn't hard fought.</p><p> </p><p>He would bite and claw and snarl his way to the hunter's heart until he fell before his blade or sharpened words. He would bare himself open to the man before him if asked without question. Jonathan did not quite understand why or where exactly the desire came from. Maybe his time with the hunter during their early encounters awoke something within the doctor that was dragged to the forefront of his consciousness. Maybe it was something he had always craved for but was too afraid to accept as a part of himself. He had a reputation to uphold after all and now? Now he had an eternity of deception laid before him and the freedom to choose how he could live it. Immortality was the key to his mortal cage, imprisoned by the bars of social expectations and mundane standards that shackled him in the shallows awaiting the tide to swallow him up if he wasn't careful to keep his head above the waterline.</p><p> </p><p>"I can feel ya starin at me." Geoffrey's mumbled words rattled Jonathan out of his revery with a startled jerk of his head. He huddled up with a sheepish glance around the room as Geoffrey's eyes slowly opened to gaze at him through weary slits. "Yer thinkin bout somethin." He stated with a lazy slur to his words.</p><p> </p><p>"Just about the investigation." Jonathan assured casually with a small reassuring smile. "And how your shoulder is feeling."</p><p> </p><p>"Yer a piss poor liar Reid." Geoffrey scoffed and sat up in the tub with a lazy roll of his head. His good hand lifted to scratch idly at his neck, ignoring the droplets of water that curled down his shoulders and back in lukewarm streaks that cooled quickly in the exposed air. "I will admit, I'm impressed."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh? How so?" Jonathan tried not to feel offended by the previous statement and took it with a grain of salt as he did like many of Geoffrey's blunt commentary.</p><p> </p><p>"Phosphorus rounds." Geoffrey scratched at his jaw, smoothing the stray water across his three day old stubble and offered a crooked smile of amusement. "Someone's been doin their research."</p><p> </p><p>"I am a scientist, Geoffrey." Jonathan pointed out. "A simple bit of chemistry is no great feat for me. Though I will admit, I am flattered and pleased to know you noticed. They have been very beneficial to my endeavors. Thank you."</p><p> </p><p>"Aye. Makes me wonder what else you got up yer sleeves Dr. Reid." The teasing tone took the doctor by surprise as he tried to decipher what exactly Geoffrey meant by that. The mischievous glint in his eye didn't sooth the fact his brain was firing blanks in an attempt to deduce what exactly the hunter was hinting at. The last thing he wanted was another misunderstanding but Jonathan found himself at odds with himself.</p><p> </p><p>The slow stroke of the hunter's foot against the inside of his leg beneath the foggy sudsy water didn't fail to get the point across. The crooked twist of his smile and that hungry expression made his undead heart beat a bit faster in anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>"Well then, I mean-" He cleared his throat and returned a courteous smile. "We should vacate the bath soon if we aim to <em> accomplish </em> anything more tonight before the sun rises."</p><p> </p><p>"Aye. That we should."</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan was the first to extricate himself from the bath and retrieve a towel for them both to dry off with. He helped Geoffrey navigate himself out of the tub and offered him a towel to wrap up with and dry off. The innocent gesture led to the hunter backing Jonathan up to the bed, his own towel tied around his waist as bare feet left damp footprints as the pair danced across the short open space.</p><p> </p><p>A firm pressure against the ekon's chest had him dropping back onto the mattress causing the old wood frame to creak in protest. Geoffrey was taken by the strong arm around his waist nearly scooping the hunter forward as they rolled over onto the bed side by side. Jonathan adjusted until the Irishman was beneath him, his head dipped down to capture warm soft lips with his own. He tilted his head to slot their mouths together as Geoffrey relaxed against the pillows. His fingers carded through the doctor's hair as they caressed the back of his head, drawing him closer for another hungry desperate kiss. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan's knee shifted to press between the hunter's thighs as the ekon moved to straddle his waist. Their chests pressed together, the warmth of the bath water left Jonathan's only mildly warmer compared to Geoffrey as steam rolled off of the hunter's skin. The lingering scent of the soap filled his nostrils with every breath as Jonathan sighed against his lips. </p><p> </p><p>Jonathan drew away with a wary breath as he spoke. "Are we? Is this-" Geoffrey shook his head with an amused chuckle..</p><p> </p><p>"Just shut up and kiss me, Reid." Geoffrey growled, drawing him back in with renewed desperation as fingers clawed and grappled each other. Jonathan's mouth trailed from the hunter's lips to leaving fevered kisses along his jaw and suckling dark bruises into the tender skin along his neck. He mouthed over the curve of his throat and felt the thundering excited pulse beating just beneath the surface. His ears filled with that rush of Geoffrey's blood and the pleasant sighs that shuddered from his chest as skilled hands roamed the coarse and treacherous roadmap that etched into the epidermal layer of his body. A fleshy canvas depicting a story of extensive war.</p><p> </p><p>His fingers outlined the curve of newly pink skin healed over the last few weeks from a potentially horrid wound. His head tilted up with a question in his eyes but Geoffrey gazed back at him from between his half closed eyelids. The hunter's hand curled through the doctor's hair and draped down his neck to trace small circles across his shoulders as he watched him through slits. He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the small flash of fangs that peeked past Jonathan's lips. The doctor wanted to hear every story and tale, to understand the life that the hunter has endured but he found his words absent now as he met those eyes full of warmth and need.</p><p> </p><p>Jonathan tilted into the calloused touch of a rough palm that cradled his cheek. His own eyes slipped shut for a brief moment. He sucked in a sharp albeit unnecessary breath and released it in one slow exhale. His ears prickled with a brief warning of unusual movement before they made sense of the source. It was a few seconds far too late as Jonathan turned to greet the opening door with his jaw agape in shock. </p><p> </p><p>"Jonathan, my sweet boy, is that you?" His mother called as she pushed the bedroom door open to peer inside. The doctor hoped the room was far too dark for her old eyes to make sense of but the universe was not so kind to him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company."</p><p> </p><p>"Mother-"</p><p> </p><p>"Well, it's about time you brought <em> someone </em>home." She chimed.</p><p> </p><p>"Mother, <em> please!" </em>The mortification on his face could only be seen by Geoffrey as the doctor buried it into the hunter's shoulder with whine. His mother lingered in the doorway as she proceeded to greet Geoffrey as if the two men were not almost entirely naked and piled on one another in the small bed.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm Emelyne Reid. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister?"</p><p> </p><p>"McCullum ma'am. Geoffrey McCullum." Jonathan had to respect the Irishman's ability to be so calm and charming under questionable circumstances. Especially one such as this.</p><p> </p><p>"I do hope we could properly meet one day. Jonathan should invite you over for dinner one evening.-"</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Mother </em> , <em> please. </em>" Jonathan pleaded, begging her to stop. She threw her hands up in quiet surrender. </p><p> </p><p>"Of course, my darling boy. It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. McCullum."</p><p> </p><p>"You too, ma'am." The door shut behind Mrs. Reid, allowing Jonathan the opportunity to groan his misery into the hunter's shoulder. He teetered off of Geoffrey's lap to sink into the narrow space between the wall and the hunter.  Geoffrey snickered in mild amusement. "She seems nice."</p><p> </p><p>"Please don't. She's been bothering me for years to bring a potential soulmate home and now she believes I just did."</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, would she be wrong though?" The silence that stretched between the two men was rife with unspoken questions and the stark realization that dawned on the doctor. Either way, the mood for their <em> activities </em> was absent as they elected to put some clothes on and settle in to rest before the sun rose.</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. ANNOUNCEMENT:</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a quick update!</p>
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    <p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024765">https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024765</a>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Captivation, TPC and several other works in the Vampyr fandom that I've been writing will be put on hold for a short while.</p>
<p>I started working on an original story with my fiance involving our OC's, that will include Vincent, Vukasin, McKinley, Bishop, O'Connor and Gertrude, as well as a new cast of characters in a supernatural setting (still in WW1 London) that will take up most of my attention in the foreseeable future. I do plan in returning to Captivation and my other works in the fandom, but I am aware of the fact my attention span doesn't multitask well with multiple settings/fandoms/worlds. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I started posting the first few chapters on AO3. It is an original work called <em><strong>The Decay </strong></em>that involves celtic werewolves, parasitic vampires and a ragtag bunch of hunters that struggle against the odds and hardships of post-war life, all through the perspective of Vincent, a dying British sniper who aims to accomplish his final mission before his inevitable demise. He is accompanied by Vukasin, as always, who is one of the rare and elusive Osraighe werewolves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If you are interested, the link is above. If not, I thank you so much for your continued support and feedback on this fic. I promise I will get back to working on it as soon as my attention span shifts or I finish writing the first draft of The Decay. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thank you all so much for being amazing and creative and so supportive, I love you all! </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoy it. Please leave a comment and kudos below and let me know what you think so far.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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